Palimpsest
by Baphrosia
Summary: Palimpsest: 1) A parchment or the like from which the writing has been partially or completely erased and replaced with new writing. 2) Something that has been changed over time and shows evidence of that change. WINNER for BEST ANGST: Round 11 of the RWSA.
1. Palimpsest: Book 1

Chapter Notes:

This is not a fluffy ride, just to warn y'all.

Originally posted to the sb_ashtray on LJ. Because I'm lazy, I've copy/pasted my notes rather than make new ones. Standard disclaimers apply.

**A/N: **I wrote this a year ago in preparation for the next round of Seasonal Spuffy... but Seasonal Spuffy has gone on hiatus. Meanwhile, S10 keeps getting more and more Scooby-friendship friendly, unlike S9. This is much closer to S9's mood.  
**A/N2:** Written to go off-canon sometime mid-S9, but also written so that comic knowledge is unnecessary (except for a few small jokes).  
**A/N3: **Thanks to **foxstarreh** and **margueritedaisy** for beta work, and **foxstarreh** for being my S9 encyclopedia so that I didn't have to actually buy or read the comics. :)

_Palimpsest: 1) A parchment or the like from which the writing has been partially or completely erased and replaced with new writing. 2) Something that has been changed over time and shows evidence of that change. (Merriam-Webster Online)_

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PART ONE

_ I'm a hero, really. I mean, to be cast such an ugly lot in life, and then to rise above it._

\- Randy Giles _(Tablua Rasa)_

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They came at her out of the shadows, faces twisted. Eyes shining with unholy light. Voices raspy and sibilant around gleaming fangs. "Slayer," they called her. And slay she did. Through the terror, through the mad rush of blood pounding in her ears and sweat running down her back. She ducked, kicked, punched. Staked. Won.

It wasn't over though. It was never over – it never _would_ be over. On they came, walking nightmares of every shape and size. Furry, leathery, slimy, huge or small, they all had one thing in common: the desire to baptize the earth with her blood.

She couldn't give in. Wouldn't. She fought until her legs shook and her arm muscles burned. Until her lungs screamed. Until her vision dimmed, ruby red liquid pooling around her in long, slowing spurts.

And then _he_ came. _His_ face was the one leering at her out of the darkness.

Her heart strained, a rapid staccato beating in her chest. Her brain fired desperate signals to her body – _movemovemove_ – that went unheard.

He leaned closer, tongue dancing over wicked, sharp teeth, caressing jagged edges. "_Got you now, Slayer_."

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Buffy screamed.

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"Buffy! Bloody hell, wake up!"

William's voice broke through the darkness and the confusion, shattering the panic that held her in its grip. She gasped and clung to him, his body her lifeline, the warmth of his hands and the steady thudding of his heartbeat soothing her, bringing her back to the still, calm night.

When her sobs had died down, he said, quietly, "It's getting worse. You can't fool me, love. Every night, it's been getting worse." She shook her head against his chest. William's large, capable hands stroked their way up her back and down again, guiding her through the post-adrenaline letdown. "Buffy..."

"Tonight was a bad one," she admitted, voice shaky. "But it's getting better. I didn't have any nightmares at all last night!"

"And you don't think _not going to sleep all night_ might've had something to do with it?"

She sighed, realizing she'd been caught. "Shh. I don't wanna talk about it right now. I just wanna..." Buffy pressed closer, making her intent clear. It was the perfect antidote – the only antidote to the nightmares. She always managed to sleep soundly after, worn out, logy and content in his arms.

Without further prompting, his touch morphed into light, delicate strokes, dancing along her sides. Buffy could feel him hardening against her, and she wriggled until his hardness pressed more firmly against her thigh. "William. I love you. _So_ much."

"Love you too, pet."

When he slipped his fingers inside of her, Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. A few weeks back, not long after they'd begun this ritual, she'd asked him if he minded. If he felt used. He'd only laughed and gone back to kissing her, deep, bone-melting kisses that left her breathless. The good kind of breathless. Just as he did now.

With his mouth working its magic, Buffy soon relaxed her death grip on his arms. William reached for the small lamp on the end table next to their bed and flicked it on. This was another part of the ritual for chasing away the bogeymen that haunted her dreams. Seeing their small, cozy, _normal_ bedroom illuminated by the diffuse glow reminded her that they were just dreams. Nothing to be afraid of. She took in the framed photos on the bedside table, one of their recent weekend in the mountains, the other of them at the beach. From there, her gaze slid over the wall on her right. William's wall, she called it. Hers was opposite his, on the left. Buffy closed her eyes; she didn't need the reminders of her family or his.

William was her family now. Her heart. Her love.

Now – oh. _Oh_. He nudged his way between her thighs, and Buffy smiled. "William..." Eyes still closed, she savored the feeling, breathing him in. Warm, musky, with a faint sheen of masculine sweat. She breathed deeper, opening her heart and her legs.

Fully seated, William nipped at her earlobe. "You with me, love?"

"Sure am." Buffy wriggled, urging him on.

"Wanna see those pretty eyes of yours."

She wanted to see his too. They were his most striking feature – deep, clear blue, brimming with love and devotion. The old saying about eyes being windows to the soul had never been more true than it was with William, and those eyes were one of the first things that had drawn her to him. Slowly, she fluttered her eyelashes open.

The angle of the light cast his face in shadow, turning his irises yellow and his skin unnaturally pale. William grinned. His teeth gleamed, canines long and sharp in the dim light, and panic slammed her heart against her ribs. _God no, not him, he's not real he's not real he's not it's just a dream always just a dream..._

It didn't help. William disappeared, was gone, maybe had never existed. Buffy closed her eyes, but the monster remained. Bleached hair atop a face twisted and demonic. Eyes gleaming with evil intent. Death threats hissed on bloodied breath. No escape, not this time, _gotyounowSlayer. _From somewhere deep inside, a scream bubbled up, welling higher, filling her burning lungs with hot, stale air – a

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Still dazed, Buffy sat on the edge of their bed and stared absently at the wall. Slowly, her breathing evened, and as the nightmare faded back into the shadows, the Cassatt hanging in front of her drew her eye. She focused on it, willing herself into reality. _Normalcy_. No monsters here, no sir. Just Buffy and William, see, and here is their room. Their life. Their possessions. _Mother and Child_. Can't get any more normal than that.

She looked harder, taking in each detail. A mother held a young girl in a billowy dress, countenance tender and adoring, and Buffy lingered over the expression on the woman's face. They'd painted their bedroom walls the same warm, yellow hues of the child's hair, and it offset the clear blue of the mother's eyes. Eyes which, now that she looked more closely, were an almost identical replica of William's. Huh. Buffy was still surprised by how deeply the image had resonated with her boyfriend. When they'd moved in together, she'd been prepared to negotiate over decor, but she'd expected to be negotiating over Sex Pistols posters. Not gentle scenes of mothers and children. "Reminds me of my mum and sister," he'd said, staring at the print in the display bin. "Looks just like them." Any inclination to negotiate (_argue_) had disappeared with those words. She had an entire wall of their bedroom devoted to photos of her family – her own mom and sister – but he had none. For whatever reason, his photos hadn't survived the years since their deaths.

She might have the photos, but she didn't have the people, not anymore than he did.

At least he has this. When they'd first hung it, he'd sat exactly where she was sitting now, eyes glued to the slightly diaphanous figures. "I can't get over how much it looks like them," he said. "Almost feels real. Like a real memory. If you could look over in this corner, here..." He flicked his fingers. "You'd find young William playing quietly with his toys.

"You mean, if young William had lived over a hundred years ago. Look at those clothes!"

They'd both laughed, but he hadn't taken his eyes off the print. Not for a long time.

He sat down beside her now and pressed a glass into her hand. Recognizing the amber liquid, Buffy made a face. "You know, Jack Daniels does not hold the answer to _all_ of life's little problems."

"'Course it does. Back in my day, a stiff drink was always what the doctor ordered for shock. Even for the ladies."

"Back in your day?" She snorted. "You mean, all those five years you lived before I was born?"

"Drink up, smartass."

Buffy did, gulping down the fiery liquid as rapidly as possible and finishing off with a wracking shudder. "Bleargh! I don't know how you stand this stuff."

William smiled, eyes crinkled in amusement. "It's my mature and refined palate."

"Destroyed palate is more like it. Bleargh!" She shuddered again, but the burn in her chest mellowed into a warm glow in the pit of her stomach, spreading outwards and relieving the suppressed shaking of her limbs. Buffy yawned. "Maybe you were right," she said, and yawned again. She laid her head on his shoulder. "Mishter Daniels ish very shmart."

"Lightweight," William murmured. Buffy felt him tugging her back into bed, and she did her best to help him, crawling under the covers and crashing facedown. "Better now?"

"Better. Shtay, okay? Don't go."

"Never, my love. Never."

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The buzzing of the alarm clock cut through the buzzing in her head, pulling Buffy out of a vague half-sleep. With a groan, she tugged the pillow over her head to drown out the sound. "Tell me it's not morning."

"It's not morning."

"Now make it true."

"Sorry, love, wish I could. But duty calls."

Buffy peeked at him, one eye half-slitted against the harsh morning light. "You love that record store more than me."

"Love lots of things more than you. A good pint. Spicy Buffalo wings. Football on the telly." He caught her scowl and grinned, biting his lip and waggling his eyebrows. "Dog racing."

"Asshole."

"Yeah, but you love it. Especially when you let me in yours."

"Shut up!" she hissed, though there was nobody around to overhear. Cheeks flaming, she pulled the pillow back over her head. "Get gone, already."

The bed dipped under his weight, and William's face appeared next to hers. "You'll call the doctor, right? Promise?"

"And say what? The dreams are bleeding over into when I'm awake? I know exactly what his response will be – same thing as always. 'It's your memories coming back, don't push it, they'll come to you, blah blah blah.' And –" she said, forestalling his argument, "I can tell you how not impressed he'll be that you were in my dream. 'William is associated with whatever traumatic memory you are both suppressing. It is only natural your subconscious would give form to your fears by painting him as one of the monsters.' Tell me I'm wrong."

William shook his head. "Don't need all my memories to know _that's_ a bad idea. But give the fellow a call, all right? For me?"

"For you. I'll do it on my lunch break." He blinked at her expectantly, and she sighed. "_Promise_."

"Thank you." William feathered his hand over her cheek. "You know I'd take all the nasties away if I could. But look on the bright side. At least your memories are coming back, love. I'm still tabula rasa. It doesn't look like mine will ever return."

"You don't seem to care."

"It'd be nice to know how we both ended up coma patients, and me all done up in plaster. But..." He shrugged. "I know the important things. My name. My address. My job. I know Man U is the only team to root for, and the music scene has been so much trash for the last twenty years."

"All the important things," Buffy agreed with a pout.

"You're just too easy. Oh – look at that lip." He leaned closer, voice dropping to a playful, husky whisper. "Gonna get it!" Buffy waited, breath held in anticipation as he drew closer and captured her mouth with his. When her toes had curled and she'd forgotten why she was even pouting in the first place, William broke the kiss. "_And_ I know the only thing that really matters: the most amazing, beautiful, incredible woman in the entire world loves me, and shares my life. I'd give up every other memory I had if need be, so long as I could know this one thing."

What was a girl supposed to say to that?

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"So?" he asked after work, when they'd sat down to a pasta salad and a bottle of wine. "What'd the doc say?"

Buffy ignored the question, rolling out her shoulders one at a time. "I think I'm over the whole barista thing. It's not that I don't enjoy it... but I _really_ don't enjoy it. Remember when I was the counselor at – remember when I was a counselor? I could do that again."

"Yeah. So why don't you?"

"Lack of higher education, for one. Sunnydale High made an exception for me, being alumni and all, but it turns out the other high schools are a little more picky. Maybe it's time for me to go back to college. There's no reason not to now. Not since..."

She fell silent. William reached across the table and took her hand, and they sat in quiet reflection. "Anyhow." Buffy wiped at her eyes, and William did the same with a loud sniff. "What do you think? Give it another go?"

"Absolutely, pet."

"You sure? It'll mean I can't contribute to the bills, and maybe even have to take out some loans. I just finished paying off the last set of student loans – hey! Stop laughing at me!"

"Sorry! It was just so bloody funny."

"I guess... why was it funny?"

"Because." William frowned, his face scrunched up in concentration. "Dunno. It just was. Wasn't it?"

The memory, such as it was, wouldn't come. Buffy remembered him laughing at the time – sniggering in that infuriating way of his. But why? And why had she met with a loan officer at night? Outside? It didn't make any sense. She shook her head, frustrated. One more annoying gap she couldn't explain. The more she tried to tease the memory out, the more it faded, until all that remained was a vague unsettled feeling and a whole lot of anger with nowhere to put it. "Maybe you were just drunk," she said with a saccharine smile.

"Maybe," he agreed equitably. Buffy scowled. Once upon a time, such a simple bait would have set him off, granting her the fight she was itching for. But he'd been so damn _calm_ since he'd awoken from his coma. The literature had said coma patients sometimes underwent drastic personality changes, and it looked like the literature was right. She missed fighting the way they used to. But then, they'd never managed to be a couple before – they'd been too busy fighting. Maybe the new and improved William wasn't so bad after all.

Buffy had the sneaking suspicion the changes weren't just due to the coma, though. He'd gone off – left her – months earlier. Gone on to live his own life, he'd said. Make something of himself. She'd missed him, desperately, but she'd let him go. Whatever they'd meant to each other, it hadn't been the time or place. And when her sister had – when he'd come back to San Francisco, William had been different. Calmer. More sure of himself.

"I missed you," she said, and he nodded. She'd told him often enough that he knew exactly what she meant, even coming out of the blue as it did. "But it was good. I'm glad now, even if I hated it then. I hated _you_."

"I know," he said, and it was true. Despite all the gaps in their memories, this was the one thing they were both sure of. When he'd returned from starting up his business, prepared to face tragedy with her, Buffy had laid her heart on the line. She'd taken a deep breath, told him she loved him, and made certain he believed it.

At least one good thing had come out of –

Her mind shied away, as it always did. If only she could forget these memories in place of the others. "Doctor Crane said exactly what I expected." Buffy finally acknowledged William's question in an attempt to distract herself. She deepened her voice. "This is very good. It shows you are close to a breakthrough. Just give it time."

"We've got time, sweetheart." William reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "We've got all the time in the world."

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Buffy rubbed at her eyes, and peered blearily at herself in the mirror. If this kept up, she wouldn't have to worry about quitting her job – they'd fire her soon enough. It had only been one week since William had begun haunting her dreams, but she looked as if she hadn't slept in months. She picked up the concealer and gave it a hopeful glance before dropping it back to the counter. Nothing could help bags like these. Just call her Buffy the Bag Lady.

William appeared behind her in the mirror. "Ready, love?"

"You don't have to go with me."

"Like I'd bloody well let you go on your own. You're a menace, state you're in. You'd do some poor pedestrian in before you reached city limits, never mind making the seven hour drive to San Fran."

"I could take the bus."

"And terrify the lot of them when you drift off into dreamland?"

She slumped. "If I terrify _you_ into an accident when you're driving, don't blame me."

"Steady hands," said William, holding them aloft for her inspection. "It'd take a lot more than a little thing like you to throw me off my game. Besides. That's not the only reason I have to go with you."

"I know." Buffy picked up the delicate silver necklace resting on the dresser. "You going to give this to her today?"

William swallowed. "Yeah. Seems appropriate, for her birthday, you know?"

They moved together without another word, silently supporting each other, holding each other close. With a final squeeze, they broke apart. Buffy picked up her purse and headed for the door, William following. He grabbed a six-pack resting on the table on the way out. She lifted an eyebrow. "Thought we'd stop by and visit Xander after," he said.

She winced, unsure of the propriety of his suggestion, before shaking it off. "Yeah. Good idea." Buffy waited while he locked up, then added, "Maybe we could swing by Sunnydale on the way home tomorrow. Make the rounds. See everybody."

"So long as Andrew's not included in 'everybody', you've got yourself a plan."

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The usually foggy city was awash in bright midday sunshine by the time they arrived, cruising slowly down the street and puttering to a stop. Buffy stretched, rousing herself from the sleepy, dull stare she'd maintained most of the way there. It was a long drive from Temecula, the little town south of Los Angeles where William had started his new life months earlier, too long to make the trip very often. _Why here? _Buffy had asked him when he'd first told her about his shop, and he'd replied, _It's a good tourist town. It's got the right kind of visitors for my wares. And it seemed... safe._ When she'd pressed him further, he'd shrugged and added_, Only one cemetery in the whole damn town. That's got to be a good sign, right? _

For whatever reason, his answer had made perfect sense. Temecula, with its lone cemetery, seemed like the sort of place a person could find happiness.

She'd spent far too much time in cemeteries these last few years.

Buffy stared out the window at the lush green lawn, barely seeing what was in front of her, until William opened the door and snapped her out of her trance. He offered her his hand, and she let him pull her to her feet. "Here we go," she said. It was the first time they'd been back in the three months since she'd moved south with him, and her legs shook as they wended their way through the headstones. William made to leave when they neared Dawn's grave, but Buffy didn't need privacy. She needed him to help her face this moment. "Stay," she said, holding tight to his hand.

They sat together for a long time, neither saying a word. Buffy ran her hand over the inscription on the stone, tears running silently down her cheeks, while William wrapped the silver chain around his fingers, tangling and untangling them in the delicate metal. All around them, birds twittered under the warm sun. In the distance, a school bell rang, and the sound of children screaming and laughing burbled up though the still air.

Eventually, her tears ran out. "Miss you, Dawnie," Buffy whispered, and climbed to her feet. "You want a minute alone?" she said a little louder, but not so loud as to disturb the quiet hush surrounding them.

"No." William took her hand in his right, and traced the gravestone with his left. "Nibblet, I..." His voice cracked. He cleared it and tried again. "I picked this up for you when I was..." For a moment, his face clouded over, and then he shrugged. "When I was off traveling." He laid the necklace along the foot of the stone, tucking it into the crack between the granite and the earth. "Happy birthday, Little Bit."

Buffy felt her eyes begin to burn once more, and she swallowed, hard. William wiped at his own eyes, then grabbed the six-pack and headed off to his left, just a few plots away. "Harris," he said, and plopped back down on the ground. She followed suit, feeling incredibly old and drained.

Feet tucked under her thighs, she laid her head on William's shoulder. "_Why_?"

"Xander?"

"Yeah."

They'd never talked about it, not before now. William sat silent a long time, watching a nearby sparrow peck at the ground. Finally, he said, "Guess he couldn't take it anymore. First Anya, then Dawn... Don't know that I rightly blame him. If it'd been you..."

"No!" Buffy said sharply, sitting up to look him in the face. "Promise me you won't do that. Ever!"

"I know I thought about it plenty. That summer, when you were..." His brow furrowed. "This being in a coma thing is getting to be a bad habit for you, isn't it, love?"

Buffy frowned too, and then she remembered. "Oh. Right, after I fell off that weird tower. I guess I forgot." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Not that I should be surprised."

"Don't blame you for forgetting." William squeezed her hand. "At any rate... It was bad. The doctors said there was no hope, and... well, if it hadn't have been for my promise to take care of your sis, let's just say I wouldn't be here now."

"It's a good thing you didn't."

"It is."

"I would've killed you if you did."

"I know."

"And if you _hadn't_ been there when I woke up, what was it, a hundred and forty-seven days later..."

"I _know_."

They fell silent again. William twisted the cap off one of the bottles and offered it to Buffy. When she shook her head, he leaned it against Xander's headstone and opened another for himself. She squirmed into a more comfortable position, head on his stomach, and watched the sun traverse the sky out of the corner of her eye. "I wish they could've been next to each other."

"They're pretty damn close."

"And Mom too. Do you think... do you think they're together now?"

"I'd stake my life on it, Buffy."

She contemplated this for a while. "It kinda feels like somebody has it in for us, doesn't it? All the bad things that've happened in our lives... all the people we've lost. It's just you and me now."

"And Willow."

"And Willow. Not that we ever see her. She's... I don't know. It's like we lost her too."

William opened another beer. He took a swallow. "Well, I guess there's always Andrew."

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Willow opened the door right as Buffy decided to give up, her hair disarrayed and her eyes – were they _black_? Buffy blinked and looked again. No. Her pupils were a bit dilated, maybe, or maybe it was a trick of the light. Either way, Willow looked dazed, that was all. Or maybe it was sleepy. Sleepy, and kinda satisfied.

"Did I wake you, Wills?" The redhead stared straight through her, and _hello_. Creepy. "Earth to Willow?"

"_Earth to Willow_," Willow mimicked, and chuckled low in her throat. "Good one, Buff," she said, but Buffy got the distinct impression Willow wasn't really with her.

"Um... I can come back? If you're busy?"

Or... _stoned?_ They'd agreed to meet at seven, and sure, she was a few minutes early, but Buffy was getting the feeling she wasn't really expected. Or welcome.

Willow shook her head and seemed to snap to, her somnolent expression replaced by an intensely focused stare, no less disconcerting. She flicked her fingers in a strange pattern, head cocked to one side. Before Buffy could so much as frown, Willow had changed demeanor again, suddenly warm and welcoming.

"Buffy! Come in! Sorry, I was just..." She blushed slightly. "Meditating. When I really get into it, I'm all loopy after."

"Ah. Right." Buffy followed her friend into her apartment, bemused.

"Tea? I've got chamomile, or some of that Earl Grey William likes." She turned. "Where _is_ William?"

"He crashed at the hotel. Long drive, and all that."

Willow fluttered around her kitchen, ping-ponging between a nervous desire to please and natural efficiency, babbling all the while. Buffy smiled, feeling more comfortable with the other woman than she had since she'd awoken from her coma. _This_ was how she remembered her best friend.

Her smile faded. This was how she remembered her best friend... back in high school. Willow hadn't acted like a spaz in years – except when she had something to hide. "So what's the deep, dark secret, Willow? Spill."

Willow stumbled, water sloshing out of the kettle and onto the counter. She swiped a sponge over it in jerky arcs. "Secret? No secret. Nothing going on here, just regular old Willow. Doing regular old things. Boring and normal! How about you?"

Buffy eyed her. "Something's up. Oooh! Is it a new girlfriend?"

"What? No!" Willow shook her head, then nodded. Vigorously. More water spilled. "You got me. That's – it's still kind of a secret."

Buffy took the kettle from her friend and set it on the stove. "How come?"

Willow stared at her. "How – how come? Well, um... because she lives far away. And we don't really know if it's going to work yet. And..." She blushed and bit her lip, her hand going to the polished red stone that hung on a chain around her neck. "And I kinda met her when I was still with Kennedy."

"So?"

Willow winced.

"Oh! Oh..."

"Yeah. So, guilt factor. _Major_ guilt factor. And it's still there, even if Kennedy and I are over now."

"Gotcha."

Willow tucked her hair behind her ear, a sheepish expression on her face. "You don't hate me?"

"Like I could ever hate you. But..." Buffy grinned. "I think you need to make it up to me by telling me _all_ about this secret girlfriend of yours."

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* * *

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Secret girlfriend stories out of the way, and tea finally made, it was Buffy's turn to talk. "I know Doctor Crane's got all those fancy degrees – at least he's got lots of framed pieces of paper on his wall – but, really? Vampires _real_? How am I supposed to trust a doctor who says stuff like that?"

Willow's brow creased. "You think he was serious? Maybe it was some kind of new memory-restoration technique. Trying to jog your memory into providing more details, or something."

"Maybe. But it was such a ridiculous idea, I couldn't bring myself to tell William what he'd suggested. Either way, so obviously not the case. I mean, William's _not_ a vampire. Can you imagine him creeping around in the dead of night, all _I vant to suck your blood_ and stuff?" She rolled her eyes at the thought. "Whatever my subconscious is trying to tell me by giving him a shiny set of fangs, I really wish it would stop." Buffy waggled her fingers at the dark shadows under her eyes. "Not appreciating the five-piece luggage set I've got going on here. And if it's all just a reminder of how we used to fight constantly? Wow, am I going to be pissed."

"I've got some po- some teas that might help. Guaranteed dreamless sleep."

"I might take you up on it." Buffy steepled her fingers against her temples. "If only I could remember what happened that night. How we both ended up in the hospital."

The redhead made a noise of suppressed irritation. When Buffy looked at her in surprise, she shrugged. "You might not like what you remember."

"It can't be any worse than this!"

Willow narrowed her eyes, and she clutched at the amulet around her neck. The hints of red peeking through Willow's fingers caught Buffy's attention and she leaned closer to get a better look, mind working at the edge of a memory.

"Oh, Buffy, Buffy, Buffy..." The words came out in a lazy drawl, so unlike Willow's usual voice that Buffy's gaze jerked to her face. "That normal life you spent _so_ many years whining about not all it's cracked up to be, huh? You finally have it, and now it's all boohoo, something's missing. _Wish I knew what it was_."

Buffy shrank back, startled at the unexpected venom. "I'm... sorry?" She didn't know what she was apologizing for, not when she had no idea what her friend was talking about, but it seemed the safest bet.

"Whatever."

"But we know what's missing – my memories."

"Just your memories? Trust me, you got off easy."

Silence reigned. Buffy was too stunned to speak. Willow sat unnaturally still, unperturbed by her outburst, gaze focused on something Buffy couldn't see once more. Her fingers caressed the red stone lying against her chest, but Buffy had lost interest in the unusual necklace. "Willow – if I did something to upset you, I'm sorry. But I _really _don't remember. Like, not just I'm a bad friend don't remember. There are gaps in my mind, big, huge empty spaces, and this is obviously one of them."

Willow chuckled. The sound made the hairs on the back of Buffy's neck stand up. "I've always known about the big empty space that is your mind, Buff. Nothing new there. Act first, think never, and to hell with anybody else, right? I came through in the end, but not everybody was so lucky. Dawn, for example. Or Xander. Giles. Anya. Miss Calendar. _Tara_."

"I'm –" Buffy stood quickly, knocking over her cup in her haste. She moved to blot the carpet, and changed her mind. Without another word, she made for the door through a haze of tears, barking her shins more than once on her way out.

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* * *

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"You think..." Buffy rolled over to stare at the ceiling. Ceilings were nonjudgmental. Safe. You could say anything to them. "You think maybe that's why I don't remember? Because I know I'm responsible, somehow, and I've blocked it out?"

"Don't be daft, how could you be?"

"I don't know. But it would explain why she was so angry. I mean, Willow's not just angry. She _hates_ me. I must have done something awful."

William was quiet for a long time – so long, Buffy began to worry he secretly agreed.

Or, worse, had fallen back asleep.

"She's grieving too," he said at last. "She's grieving, same as we are, but she's got nobody to share it with. Even if she's got a new bird, this Aluwyn chippie can't possibly understand. Harris was all Willow had left of her childhood. Now he's gone, and the witch is lashing out. Seems to me it's what she does." William propped himself up on one elbow, and Buffy rolled back onto her side to face him. "You told me how it was when Tara died."

"It was bad," she said. "We thought we were going to have to have Willow committed. Maybe worse. Xander –" Her voice broke. "Xander was the only one who could get through to her."

"And now _he's_ the one she's grieving."

Buffy thought about this for a while. William's insights into her and her friends had always bordered on uncannily accurate, not that she would ever let him know. His ego was too big for his head as it was. Something about what he'd said struck her as odd, though. "Why'd you call her a witch?"

"Willow? She's acting like a right witch. Don't care how addled by grief the woman is, she hurt my girl. I can call her worse things if it'd make you feel better," he said, and his hopeful tone made Buffy laugh despite herself.

"Ugh," she groaned. "At least this day is over. Can't get any worse."

He peered at his watch, then grinned down at her, a wicked twinkle in his eye. "It's officially tomorrow. Care to start the new day off right?"

.

* * *

.

Her legs betrayed her, and she hit the ground with a sharp crunch. Fresh pain bloomed in her side, painting her vision in a haze of red. The monsters loomed closer. Fetid breath washed over her face, and she waited with fatalistic resignation. To give in meant no more fighting and failing. No more terror. Just peace.

Maybe tonight she would let him end the horror.

She craned her head. Bared her neck in supplication.

He didn't save her.

The air crackled. Popped. Hissed. A thousand writhing black snakes resolved into obsidian hair flying on the wind, sparking with the absence of light. Beneath unnaturally pale skin, ebony tentacles crawled and writhed, twisting their way into the witch's heart. They pulsed with forbidden knowledge, waxing and waning in time with the glowing red stone that had been inscribed by darkness itself.

The witch's voice sounded of death and decay. Of things older than time. "_You clawed your way out of the earth once already. Oops. My bad. Let's see how you claw your way out of this, Slayer-bitch._"

.


	2. Palimpsest: Book 2

PART TWO 

_ I dropped my board in the water and the chalk all ran. Sure to be caned._

\- Spike _(Lessons)_

.

William's evil doppelganger might have stopped haunting her dreams, supplanted as he was by Willow, but that didn't mean she was free from Spike.

Buffy had once watched a movie where the main character, driven half-insane by insomnia, had been able to see the secret, sinister world normally hidden by the mundane, human one. She was pretty sure there was no secret world full of things that went bump in the night, but she figured she had the half-insane part down, no problem. Sometimes, when she glanced over at William, she'd be shocked to see his hair light brown and loosely curled about his head rather than in the shape of a peroxided blond helmet. More than once, she caught herself mentally planning a trip to the butcher to pick him up some blood. Worst of all was the time she'd seen – _seen_ – smoke curling up off of his skin as he weeded beside her under the morning sun. Heart hammering, she'd shoved him into the shadows with the strength of a woman possessed. William had complained about the minor case of deafness her screams had given him only slightly less than he'd whined over the gravel she'd had to dig out of his hands and knees after.

"I can see why this Spike fellow calls you _Slayer_," he'd said, but she hadn't been able to laugh, not even a bare chuckle. Her sense of humor had reached an all-time low.

It was the day after that when she'd called Dr. Crane and asked him to tell her more about vampires and demons. Maybe the old coot wasn't so crazy after all – or maybe she was just crazy enough to want to believe him.

His response had left Buffy even less sure of her sanity. "Vampires? No matter how vivid your nightmares, how realistic, I can assure you there's no such thing. No, they're merely a symbolic representation of your trauma."

"But..." _But you're the one who brought it up,_ Buffy wanted to scream. _You're the one who suggested we'd had an encounter with vampires._

"Yes, yes, I know vampires have been all the rage lately. They quite took over popular culture, so much so even I gave them credence for a short while. That Harmony Kendall was quite convincing, wasn't she? She's been discredited, though. They all have." He chuckled. "As if a _vampire_ would compete on _Dancing with the Stars_."

Buffy wasn't sure if she was relieved, or more frightened for her sanity than ever.

"So what do I do? How do I make this stop, Doc? Cause to be honest, I can't take much more. Either these dreams have to end, or the memories have to come out. Now."

She could hear him rifling through his books. "Perhaps we could try regression hypnotherapy again. Say, two weeks from Monday?" Buffy gave her agreement, not even bothering to check her calendar. "Very good. In the meantime, I suggest meditation. Remove all distractions, clear your mind. See what happens."

Meditation wasn't really her style – give her ten minutes with a punching bag instead – but she was willing to give it a shot.

Anything, at this point.

.

* * *

.

Meditation _really_ wasn't her style.

Buffy flopped onto her back, exhausted after only a few minutes of soothing breaths and peaceful thoughts. Maybe she could try regressing her memories herself?

Still on her back, she closed her eyes. _Yesterday. What happened yesterday?_

She winced. Yesterday was so not a good place to start. Yesterday, she'd woken from her usual nightmares, but this time Angel had joined the fray. Like William, the nightmare version of her high school boyfriend had sported the telltale forehead ridges and yellow eyes of a vampire. Only it hadn't been Buffy he'd been after, it had been her friends. Her family. Her – Giles.

_Giles with a broken neck, staring sightlessly, and – _

Nope. Not starting there.

Better to start closer to the accident. Not like there was anything wrong with her short-term memory, after all. No, she'd start with...

.

* * *

.

"He's free to go? Really?"

"Really," said the doctor, her smile a mixture of irritation and indulgence. "William has a clean bill of health. So long as he keeps up his physical therapy, I expect a full recovery."

"And his..." Buffy waggled her fingers at her head.

"Is _your_ memory loss affecting your ability to function?"

Buffy was quick to deny it. She didn't want to give the nice doctor any reason to stick her back in the hospital. "Fit as a fiddle. No problems here!" Thanking the doctor for her time, she turned and made a hasty retreat.

She found William in his hospital room, staring at the bright walls. "Ready?"

"Yeah." He looked around the room. "It's almost come to feel like home. I'm a little bit nervous about what's outside these walls, truth be told."

Pointing at the wheelchair he was to ride in one last time, she said, "Get in. And I don't blame you. You've been here almost two months. Longer, if you count the time you spent playing Sleeping Beauty."

The nurse on duty wished him a fond farewell, but otherwise they made their escape quickly. Buffy left William by the front door and brought his car around. He took one look at her in the driver's seat and, with a show of strength that belied his limp, stalked over to the driver's side and yanked the door open. "I'm not fixing to come back here anytime soon. Out."

"But..."

"Out! I'm driving."

He gave in soon after they'd left San Francisco behind, once the traffic had thinned out and he couldn't hide his exhaustion any longer. Buffy slid into the driver's seat, suppressing the urge to pull out her shiny new learner's permit and show it to him just one more time. But as she neared the turnoff for the crater formerly known as Sunnydale, she found herself flagging, unused to driving long distances. William didn't look much better. Though his eyes were shut, his knuckles were white on his knees. "Maybe we should spend the night somewhere," Buffy said. "Drive the rest tomorrow. It's not like we're in any great rush, right?"

"Thank Christ," William muttered under his breath. He opened his eyes and took in their surroundings, squinting at the road signs as they flashed past. "Sunnyhell's out of the question."

"Eh, we're getting close to Los Angeles. I'm sure there'll be something soon."

Buffy took the first exit promising lodging and found a decent looking motel. Pulling into the parking lot, she felt pretty damn proud of herself, but the feeling dissipated when it came time to check in and the clerk asked whether they wanted a room with one bed or two. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see William studiously avoiding her gaze.

Once upon a time, he would've answered without a moment's hesitation, not even giving Buffy the chance to protest. These days, he was more circumspect. While she appreciated his restraint, it put her in the awkward position of having to be the one to make the first move – and making the first move meant taking a big, scary chance.

She'd managed to speak her heart before the accident, and that had gone all right. Maybe being bold could be a new trend.

"One," Buffy said at the same time as William said, "Two." Startled, he turned to her.

"You sure?" When she nodded, he grinned. "One it is, mate," he said to the clerk, eyes still glued to Buffy.

The clerk rolled his eyes, but neither of them paid him any attention.

By unspoken agreement, they did no more than cuddle up together in their room with a single bed. Buffy laid her head on his shoulder, her hand stroking William's chest. "This is nice. Much more roomy than your hospital bed. Tell me you have a king size waiting for us at home?"

She cringed inwardly, mortified by her inadvertent wording, but relaxed when his only answer was a light snore. While he might have mentioned hoping she'd move to Temecula, he hadn't actually asked her to move in with him. Maybe he wasn't ready for that yet. Maybe _she_ wasn't ready for that, yet. For once, William was the one with a life, a purpose, and she was the hanger-on.

It wasn't a very comfortable feeling.

Sitting next to William as he navigated the sunny streets of his new hometown the following morning, her sense of displacement only grew stronger. He pulled up in front of his store-slash-apartment with a confidence and surety that magnified her own disquiet. "Here we are, love. My very own home sweet home."

Buffy examined the storefront, and was surprised to find William doing the same, a small crease between his brows. "Something wrong?"

"Huh?" He shook his head. "Been so long since I've been here, almost feels like a dream, you know? Bit surreal." William climbed out slowly, favoring his left leg. "Come on, I'll show you around."

The door of the shop burst open and a young man came rushing out. "William! You're back! Does this mean I can _finally_ take that vacation you promised me?" He winked and flashed Buffy a smile.

"All right, mate, don't get ahead of yourself." William paused a moment, an intense look of concentration on his face. "Trevor."

Trevor smiled again. "So glad to have you back, man. Everybody's missed you."

"Been slacking off, you mean." William wrapped his arm around Buffy's shoulder and ushered her inside the busy store. After a perfunctory tour, Trevor shooed them back outside, around to the stairs in back, claiming his boss looked like death warmed over and would scare off the customers.

William smiled gratefully and climbed the steps, Buffy's hand in his. He paused a moment before the bright blue door up top, keychain in hand and that same look of concentration on his face, and then he chose a key and unlocked the door.

The moment she stepped over the threshold, Buffy's secret fear that there was no longer room for her in William's life, that he'd moved on for good, disappeared. Unlike the store, his living quarters were stark, almost barren. The pure white walls and near-empty rooms were completely devoid of personality, vacant of all but the barest necessities. The only sign William lived there was the pile of romance books with steamy covers that lay spilled across an end-table. Even when he'd lived in that seedy little apartment in Sunnydale, he'd made it a home. A _comfortable_ home.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Guess I didn't get around to much decorating before the accident." William peered at the living room in dismay. "S'pose I had a lot to worry about, what with the getting the business up and running."

Buffy took a deep breath. "Maybe..." She reached for his hand, heart hammering in her chest. "Maybe, you know. We could decorate it together."

.

* * *

.

"That's it? Everything checks out, have a nice life?"

"Miss Summers, at this point you are both physically and mentally capable of carrying on a normal life. There is nothing more we can do for you here at St. Mark's Hospital." When Buffy made to protest, the doctor's voice lost its edge of sympathy. "There is also the small matter of insurance to discuss..."

"Right. I'll just... see myself out."

"A nurse will see you to the front door, like any other patient," the doctor said brusquely. "Now, as I was saying. You should be pleased with your progress. You've awoken from a weeks-long coma with no after-effects other than some missing memories. If those memories don't return on their own, I'm sure Doctor Crane will be able to help you. Give him a call and set up an appointment as soon as you can." Buffy smiled faintly. "And be sure to stop by accounts payable on your way out. The sooner you take care of these things, the easier it will be."

"Thanks..." The doctor turned and strode purposefully away. "... for nothing." With a sigh, she dodged out of sight of the nurses and made her way to William's room.

She peeked her head in and saw him sitting in his bed, staring morosely at the lunch tray on his lap. When he saw her, he broke out in a smile. "Hey there. You free of this place?"

Buffy thought of the bill waiting to be settled. "I don't think I'll ever be free. But what's going on with you? You get a walking cast today, right?"

William speared a green bean and watched it droop down his fork. "There's something to look forward to." He wriggled his toes, just barely visible in the plaster cast suspended above the bed. When Buffy remained in the doorway, he patted the space beside his other thigh and said, "Sit with me a bit? It does me good to see you up and about."

"Missed me, huh?"

"Always." He gave her a wicked grin. "But I'm going to miss bullying the nurses into wheeling me to your bedside so I could see for myself whether you'd woken up yet. That was good for a bit of excitement in an otherwise dull day."

"You're just going to have to get your kicks some other way."

William leaned back into his upraised bed, hands laced behind his head, and slowly stretched first one shoulder and then the other. "Think I can talk the nurses into a game of strip poker?"

"Not if you don't want me to break your other leg!"

He pouted in mock-disappointment. "At least there's my daily sponge bath."

Buffy shifted uneasily beside him. William loved her, she knew that. She was also certain he knew she loved him in return. But was he still _in_ love with her? Times like this, she couldn't be sure. Asking him where they stood – well, it wasn't going to happen today.

"Willow's coming to pick me up. She'll probably be here any minute. I don't want to keep her waiting."

His face fell. "Oh. Right." He stabbed another green bean, and she hauled herself to her feet. "Buffy – pet?"

"Yeah?"

Eyes trained on his plate, William said, "Don't know what your plans are now that – well, now that everything's different. But Temecula's a nice enough town. Could be a good fit for you." He poked at the jello with his fork. "I've got a sweet little setup, only I can't say as it's perfect. Not yet."

"Oh?"

"Something's missing."

"What..." Buffy swallowed. "What's that?"

He raised his eyes. "You."

.

* * *

.

Monitors beeped. Machines hisses. Slowly, the sounds of a hospital going about its business intruded on the fog of her consciousness. Buffy came to with a choked gasp, grappling frantically with the tubes blocking her airway. Ignoring the unpleasant slithering sensation in her chest, she yanked the foreign material from her mouth and hurled it away. Around her, machines beeped spastically. She flung an arm out and connected with something hard, silencing the noise.

Exhausted, she lay panting in the darkened room.

_Name: Buffy. Check. _

_Location: hospital. Check. _

_Reason I'm here: _

_Gotta... gotta get... _

A wave of panic washed over her, dragging her back down into the fog. She fought it, breath coming in short, painful gasps.

_Gotta... gotta see..._

With a monumental effort, she sat upright. Her limbs felt sluggish, heavy, and her mouth seemed stuffed with cotton. With movements like melted taffy, she pulled the remaining tubes and monitors from her body, then pushed herself to her feet.

_Gotta... Dawn. Dawn. Xander. William._

_Willow?_

Buffy staggered to the doorway. Somewhere around the corner to her left, she heard a voice she'd known once, a long time ago. "Did _you_ do this to Blondiebear, Willow?" it screeched. "He's all human and yeesh! _Yeesh!_" There was a quiet murmur, and then, "_Shanshu?_ Guess that explains why he screamed like a little girl when I offered to fix his problem. My poor, platinum baby. Oooh, I bet Angel's pissed, huh?"

She turned towards the familiar voice, hoping it would have answers for her despite the earsplitting decibel level and the fact that she couldn't make heads or tails of what was being said. But then she heard, "_Bloody hell!_ Watch where you're putting that thing!" from the other direction, and her feet automatically swiveled towards the sound.

Holding the wall for support, she lurched down the hall, following the siren song of a loud and belligerent Englishman.

"The psychotic bint startled me, that's all. I don't need a bleedin' sedative, I need you to screen my visitors a little better. Keep the lunatics out. It's not like I can defend myself here, done up as I am!"

"William," she whispered, and staggered through the doorway.

In slow-motion, William froze mid-gesticulation. His head pivoted towards her, expression incredulous. "Buffy?"

"Buffy!" he repeated, and began a wild effort to untangle himself from the rigging holding his leg aloft. "Buffy!" he said again. "God, Buffy, you're okay – No! Get off me, you witch, let me go – I was so worried about you, sweetheart –"

Buffy managed to dodge her away around the increasingly irate nurse and made it to William's bedside. "What happened to you – are you okay – why are we here?"

"Shh, love, come here – I need to –" He reached for her with both hands, elbowing the nurse in the process, and pulled her onto the bed with him. Buffy's head swam sickeningly, and her pulse raced in her ears. "Shh," he said again, pulling her closer. "God, I –" William held her face in his hands, thumbs tracing her cheekbones. His eyes filled with tears. "Buffy," he said, and kissed her.

It was a gentle kiss, no more than a soft brush of his lips on hers, but it felt like coming home. Buffy collapsed onto William's chest, and his arms clamped around her, making her breath whoosh out of her lungs.

Another nurse burst into the room, a look of steely determination on her face. "Now, William, you need to calm down. Miss Summers needs the doctor, and –"

William grabbed the tray from his bedside table, sending half-empty plates crashing around the room, and wielded it like a weapon. "Back off! She's not going anywhere." Buffy clung more tightly to him, focusing on the sound of his heartbeat. "Watch it, love. They like to jab you when you're not looking. Oi! I see that needle, you fiendish old hag! Stay –"

When Buffy came to this time, her head felt worse than ever, but at least there were only minimal wires keeping her in place. She eased herself up, and spotted a blurry shape topped by copper in the corner of the room. "Willow?"

"Buffy! That was some scene you caused earlier. Doctors and nurses running everywhere!"

She sank back into the bed. "What happened? What am I doing here?"

"What do you remember?"

Buffy struggled against endless shrouds of nothing. There was something – a flash? – and then it was gone. Her head pounded, and she rolled to the side, certain she was about to vomit. When the feeling passed, she managed a dry whisper. "Nothing. I don't remember a thing."

"At all?" Willow's panicked voice sounded by her ear. "Not your name, or who you are? You're not feeling the urge to call yourself 'Joan', are you?"

"Huh?" Buffy shook her head, then froze when it made the pounding worse. "No. Got the name part down. Drawing a great big zero on what landed me here."

"Oh. _Whew_! 'Cause otherwise, not good, and..." Willow drifted off. "You... were in a fight. Someone attacked you guys. Ring any bells?"

She thought back, but one overriding image stood out in painful clarity, obscuring every other memory. "Dawn..." Buffy's throat constricted. She swallowed, hot tears dripping off the end of her nose, and felt a cool hand brush her hair back. "Dawn's really..."

Willow withdrew. "I'm sorry." Her voice took on a frantic edge. "I tried to save her, you know that right? I really did, Buffy."

_Tried to save her?_ Buffy squinted, confused. "How could you have? The cancer – there was no – no saving her."

For a brief moment, Buffy felt something pushing at the edge of her mind, almost like an alien presence, and then it was gone. Willow took her hand. "I'm so, so sorry, Buffy. First your mom, then Dawn..."

"And – oh, god. Xander too? Please, _no_, tell me I'm remembering wrong..."

Willow let out a choked sob and clutched a pendant around her neck, her face a mask of distress.

Buffy closed her eyes. It was too much. Too much.

_I'd like my coma back, please._

She listened to Willow crying quietly, but her own tears had fled, insufficient for expressing the agony she felt. Instead, a blessed numbness descended. Numb was good. Numb let her poke at the shape of her past without actually feeling it. Dawn – then Xander – then... nothing.

Still nothing.

"What happened after... that?" she asked when Willow had quieted into a silent stare, one hand still at her chest.

"You really don't remember?" Buffy shook her head, slowly and carefully. To move too much might rupture the blankness cocooning her. "Last I saw you, William was driving you home. After we left the hospital. You guys walked me inside, and then you left. They think you were mugged outside your apartment," Willow said. "But nobody really knows. Except you two."

"Does William –"

"No. He can't remember either."

Buffy closed her eyes. It didn't help. "I need to see him."

"I know," Willow said, her words low and soothing. "But not just yet. Okay? Try to rest a bit more first."

She'd been resting. For days, maybe longer. She needed to _do_ something. "I..." But the numbness, the lassitude was too tempting. "Okay... just for a bit," she said, and willingly drifted off into the grey.

Later, when she insisted she was well enough to travel the short distance to William's room, it was a stony-faced nurse who wheeled her there at the doctor's order. The one William had clocked with his elbow. "I'm really sorry?" Buffy offered, feeling like a naughty two-year old.

The nurse didn't answer. She parked Buffy at William's bedside and marched back out of the room, the mottled bruising on her right cheekbone livid under the fluorescent lights. William winced. "Don't think she's going to forgive me any time soon. And she's the one what does all the jabbing with needles." He looked mournful. "Have a feeling the next time they order blood work, it won't be half so pleasant."

Buffy sat in her chair, twisting her hands and watching William from beneath her lashes. Despite their earlier reunion, she felt unsure of herself. The antiseptic smell and bright, cheerful walls made everything more than a little surreal, and set against their surroundings and the false calm she'd carefully nurtured, William seemed almost a stranger to her.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, pointing at his leg.

"Only a little." She raised an eyebrow. "Fine, it hurts like a bitch, but..." He lowered his voice. "Willow's been sneaking me some kind of herbal concoction. Dunno what all she's got in it, she was babbling on about comfrey and bone break and who knows what, but it does the trick. Makes the pain bearable enough I don't need the morphine. And the docs are mighty impressed with how fast I'm healing. I put it down to being a superior specimen, myself." He winked at her. "Good breeding."

Buffy rolled her eyes, but she smiled. "And what about the rest of you? Willow said you don't remember what happened."

William rubbed absently at the bandaging around his chest. "Didn't remember much of anything when I first woke up. It was all kind of foggy. Distant." She nodded in commiseration. "But Willow stopped by soon after, and it was like a deluge, everything coming at me. My past, you. There were still some holes. Bits that were unclear. More of them resolved when Skip showed the next day."

"Skip?"

"My assistant manager. Thank god for him, or my store would be belly-up now, eh?"

She frowned. William... with a store? Did she remember this? It seemed like it. Sort of.

"When he stopped by, I remembered my new place, all that. A few things are still hazy, but the only real blank I'm drawing is what happened to put us in here. Doc says that's normal, so..." He shrugged. "I'm not complaining. Well, I _am_. But that's just 'cause it's more fun than lying here all meek and proper."

This time, Buffy laughed out loud. "And what else have you been doing to pass the time besides being a royal pain in the ass?"

He held up a remote. "_Passions_ is on in five."

.

* * *

.

Buffy drew a deep, shuddering breath. No matter how she tried, she couldn't go any earlier than the day she'd woken up in the hospital. Not without skipping back too far – and those weren't memories she was keen to revisit. She'd rather have the dreams than relive that awful night.

_Dawn, exhaling quietly one last time, victim of the same cancer that had stolen their mother. Xander turning away, his one good eye vacant and hopeless. Finding him face-up on the bedroom floor of their apartment later that night, an empty bottle of Dawn's pain pills still in one hand. Sirens. An ambulance careening wildly. The hospital, sympathetic but rushed medical personnel, more paperwork. _

_So much paperwork._

_Willow, her own eyes empty, almost black._

_William taking her by the hand._

William led her out the front doors. Into the darkness.

The shadows moved. Danced. Attacked.

"William!" she screamed. Clad in black from head to foot, leather coat swirling as he danced, he was a shadow himself.

"Don't blame me. It's the witch you want."

"What?"

He drove her away from the light. Vicious blows stained his knuckles crimson. "She stole the chalk."

"I don't understand." Her shoulders slammed into something hard and cold.

"You must free me," a voice rasped behind her.

Buffy whirled. On the other side of the bars crouched a feral woman wrapped in rags, desert-black skin slashed with white clay. "Death is my gift. Free me."

"I don't understand," she said again.

"The witch has the key. _Long live the witch_."

All around her, the monsters took up the chant of _Long live the witch._

Eyes glowing red, she snarled and rattled her cage.


	3. Palimpsest: Book 3

PART THREE 

_ No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after._

\- Rupert Giles _(Lie to Me)_

.  
.

She opened her eyes to pure and total darkness.

Without the peace and quiet part. Her heart pounded so forcefully, her pulse rushed through her veins like the roaring of a winter surf.

And somewhere very close by, somebody was screaming.

Buffy bolted upright from where she'd fallen asleep on the couch, eyes wider than wide. Her hand flew to her mouth.

It muffled the screams. Sort of.

A minute passed, and another. And another. If ever there was a time for meditating, for stilling the mind and calming the soul, this was it. Buffy recalled a passage she'd read in some wacko book Anya had stocked for her New Age-y clientele. She willed her exhale gentler than the spring breeze, the beat of her heart softer than kitten's paws, the weight of her worries lighter than a feather.

Dumb as it was, it couldn't be any worse an idea than holding your very own amateur hour memory-regression session.

Eventually she managed to not choke on her own breath, and the possibility of coronary dropped to only somewhat likely. Calmer now, she could see the faint outlines of the entertainment center against the opposite wall, and the coffee table in front of her. Over to the side of the room, the message light of their answering machine blinked red in the gloom.

Buffy padded over to it, grimacing at the foul taste in her mouth. She pressed play.

_Beep_. "Buffy, love, some bloke came by just before closing and dropped off a bunch of vinyl he inherited. I'll probably be down here sorting it for a while. Pop downstairs if you need anything. Love you."

Well, that explained why she'd woken alone in the dark. And why William hadn't come rushing to her rescue – he probably had his headphones on and couldn't hear anything but some screechy old noise he called music. She smiled at the thought of him bopping around downstairs, head banging to the beat, imitating the electric whine of a guitar at the top of his lungs.

The answering machine blipped at her, letting her know it had put the un-erased message into storage. She reached out to press erase, but her finger stilled over the button. Buffy stared at the blinking red light.

Something inside of her rattled its cage. _Free me_.

She didn't stop to think about it.

Buffy grabbed her purse off the table, and the car keys off of the hook by the door.

.

* * *

.

She called home and left a message once she hit the far side of LA, but that was the only moment of clear, rational thought. Every other instinct drove her onwards.

_The witch has the key._

Sunrise was still hours away when she reached San Francisco. It didn't stop her from pounding up the stairs, or pounding on Willow's door. "Buffy, what –"

"Tell me, Willow." Buffy shouldered her way inside the dark apartment. "I _know_ you know what really happened. Tell me!" She hadn't spoken to her friend since their aborted visit, and she was shocked by Willow's appearance. Normally pale and thin, the redhead's skin appeared near-translucent, her angles as sharp as glass. And her hair? Not so much with the red. More like obsidian.

Willow's hand flew to the red stone at her chest. Buffy could have sworn the thing pulsated, but her attention was diverted by the other woman's eyes. Eyes so dark, they made her hair seem downright colorful. "Willow," she said. "What is going on? What –"

The stone flared, tinting the room the color of hellfire. Willow's eyes glowed with it. Buffy's gaze darted between her friend's face and the thing at her neck. With a speed she didn't know she possessed, she snatched the necklace, breaking the chain with a snap. It hung in her grip, beating like some ancient, evil heart.

"Is it time to finish this?" Willow grated. "We finally gonna duke it out? No Giles to save you now."

The thing in her hand wriggled. Buffy's mind snapped.

.

* * *

.

Buffy stares at the reason for this week's apocalypse. She's not sure if it's evil. But it's ancient. It glows, pulses really, bathing the cavern in red and power. They're all affected by it.

They're all fighting to possess it.

And Giles lies dead at Angel's feet. It could be her fault.

Acting on instinct, she swings her scythe and smashes the glowy-red-source-of-all-magic-Seed-of-Wonder.

The world changes.

.

* * *

.

There is no more magic. This is not a metaphor.

She thinks it's not such a big deal. _Whoop-de-doo_, there are zompires instead of vampires. And everybody's stuck on whatever side of the gate they were on when she slammed it shut for good. Hey, less demons. Put it in the win column.

Except Dawn is made of magic. And there is no more magic.

This is definitely her fault.

.

* * *

.

She doesn't know what to do. Whom to turn to. No Watcher with his wealth of Watcher knowledge. Angel? So not going there, not when he's the reason Giles is gone. Possessed by Twilight or not, Buffy cannot forgive – or face – the vampire she once loved with all her heart.

Faith is action-girl, like her. Not going to be useful in this situation. Nothing to punch. Andrew? Never makes the list of people to call in a crisis. Especially not since the pregnant robot fiasco. Xander's not a help to anybody these days. Lost in a bottle more often than he's willing to admit, her friend can barely function. Spike is somewhere not here, she's not really sure where. On the other side of the solar system, maybe. Off to find his own destiny, because she can't be somebody she isn't. Somebody who will choose him without reservation. Her heart doesn't work that way anymore, or maybe it never has.

Willow's the only one who could help Dawn, who might even know where to start, but she's gone. Left on a mystical walkabout long ago, on a quest to restore the magic Buffy took from her. She's got Buffy's scythe, which is no help here, but it's nice to have it around at times like this. Like a big, sharp, pointy security blanket.

And Dawn... Oh, god. Dawn. _Dawnie_. When you were five and I was nine, we went to the county fair. Remember? And you wanted that stupid pumpkin doll so much, and Mom always called you Pumpkinbelly after that. _Remember_? I do. I do I do _I do I_

_don't _

She tries harder. The force of her love keeps her sister _who now don't have a sister you're not my sister_

Like Tinkerbell, Dawn will cease to exist the moment they forget.

And it's her fault.

.

* * *

.

Buffy puts off calling Spike for as long as she can. She doesn't want to snap her fingers and summon him to her side, her ever-faithful vampire in tarnished armor, not when she can't give him what he wants in return. It isn't fair to him.

But neither is keeping him out of the loop just because she can't figure out how to be a grownup. He loves Dawn too. He deserves the chance to –

He doesn't get to say goodbye, not in a meaningful way. By the time he arrives, Dawn doesn't remember him. He stumbles out of her darkened bedroom, paler than she's ever seen him.

Buffy wonders if she'll ever stop screwing up.

.

* * *

.

They each remember only bits and pieces now. They take turns sharing them, speaking the memories louder and faster, trying to outrace the inevitable.

Xander is the first to stop. He sits and stares, his hand cupped around the girl's cheek.

Buffy touches Spike's arm and leads him out of the bedroom. They sit slumped side-by-side in the hallway.

"I love her," she says. "I can't remember her name, but I know I love her."

"I know," Spike says. "I love her too."

This sets free the tears she's been holding back. Buffy cries and cries, rivers of salt water. At first Spike awkwardly pats her shoulder, silent and circumspect, and then she's in his lap, clinging to his black t-shirt, soaking it through. "Hey, Buffy. Hey." His arms are tight around her, sheltering her.

"I missed you. I really, _really_ missed you. You left!"

It's a relief to focus on a different grief for a while. Let this pain take the other's place.

"It needed to be done," he says quietly. Spike is not apologetic. Nor is he bitter. He knows what he needs and who he is, and Buffy hears it in his voice.

She is happy for him. She also envies him. "I know."

What else is there to say?

.

* * *

.

Over the next day, his quiet and calm certitude is a haven Buffy doesn't let herself take further refuge in. She gave up that right months earlier. But watching Spike gives her hope. Wherever he's been and whatever he's done, it has made him into the kind of man she always knew he could be. If he can find his place in the world, maybe she can too.

Maybe that place can even be together. The thought takes hold, no matter how she tries to shake it off. Spike isn't her dark place anymore, because he's not his own dark place. Two lost and lonely screw-ups is a recipe for disaster; they'd proved that amply. But two mature grown-ups?

Could be a beautiful thing.

She finds herself alone with him, just as he wakes from a short afternoon nap. Xander and her sister are asleep in the other room, curled up together, one slumbering under the influence of pain pills, the other under the influence of his own brand of pain medication. Buffy is sitting in the arm chair, ostensibly sleeping as well, but in actuality staring into space and doing her best to recall her _(that girl) _sister's name. Spike blinks himself awake, and raises himself up on one elbow. The platinum curls she secretly loves frame his sleepy face. Without a word, she pads off to the kitchen, names that aren't-quite-right _(Destiny-Delilah-Deborah-Dee-Darla)_ careening around inside her head. He's still on one elbow when she returns, and he smiles when she hands him a mug of blood. In that unguarded smile, she sees the truth of his feelings for her.

It makes her bold.

Buffy takes the couch cushion by his feet. Her heart pounds. Her hands are clammy. "Spike," she says. She can't look at him. "There's something I need to tell you. And I need you to just listen."

He doesn't reply. Buffy grows angry, until she realizes he is silent and listening, just as she asked. _Well, okay. Here goes nothing._

"I love you." His foot jerks away from her, and he makes a small, pained noise. "No, be quiet. Listen. Like you once said to me, I'm not asking for anything in return. I'm just telling you. It doesn't mean – I don't know what it means. But I know it's true. I _love_ you. I told you once before, and you didn't believe me. Probably because I had shitty timing, as usual. And then you came back into my life, and it's been this huge question. Do you? Do I? I tell myself it's not the time or the place." Buffy resists the urge to get up and move. To hit something. "I tell myself I can't think about love, or what we are to each other. Because I don't even know what I am to myself. I don't know who I am, or what I want. All my life I've hoped that someday, the day would come when I could hang up my white cape and just be Buffy for a change. But that day never comes. And I have so many things to worry about. The fate of the world, for one. Whether or not I'm still me, or a robot, for another. You know?"

Spike makes a sound somewhere in between a grunt and a chuckle. Buffy takes this as a yes – or proof he hasn't fallen back asleep, at least. His foot has been so still, she's wondered. "But I might not ever figure out who I am or what it is I really want. And when your life is nothing but a series of honest-to-goodness end-of-the-world apocalypses, _plural_, it's never the time or the place. There's never a perfect moment. So. I'm telling you now."

Buffy takes a deep breath and raises her eyes to his. "Spike. I love you."

He doesn't say a thing. Preternaturally still, he stares back at her. Seconds stretch into minutes, and Buffy realizes she's managed to screw everything up between them. Again. "You don't have to say anything." Obviously. Because he hasn't. "I just wanted to tell you. In case it got too late again. I wanted to tell you before the end of the world this time." And now it sounds like something she's checked off her to-do list. No wonder he's not swooning at her feet.

"So. Um. Thanks for listening." She vaults to her feet, intent on making a speedy getaway to the bathroom where she can gather up the shreds of her dignity in private.

"I love you too."

Buffy stops in her tracks. Her hands tremble.

"_Spike loves Buffy,_" he says, with a shaky, self-depreciating laugh. "How could it be otherwise?"

Good. This is good. Mutual feelings are good. Of course, Spike might mean he loves her like a sister, or like a comrade-in-arms and she's not too sure whether that's the kind of love she means either. Slowly, she turns back to him. He's on his feet, hands in his jeans pockets, shoulders up around his ears, performing an uncertain little shuffle that makes her want to gather him up in her arms and never let him go.

When they've stared across the room at each other for so long Buffy can't imagine any possible way to quit this conversation with decorum, Spike licks his lips. "Out of curiosity... is this the kind of love that involves kissing?"

She thinks maybe it is. But she's not one hundred percent sure. Either way, today's not exactly the best day to be deciding such things, not when there's the situation with that girl in the other room.

Buffy groans inwardly, wondering if this isn't just another example of her looking for excuses not to deal with her feelings, but she pushes the thought away. There's only so much self-awareness she can manage in a single day, after all.

Spike blinks at her, his face hopeful despite his best effort at nonchalance.

Then again, how much time does she really need to figure out the answer to his question? Buffy decides: _not that much_. She takes a step forward. He does the same.

And a finely honed scythe appears out of nowhere in the space between them.

.

* * *

.

The flashing red blade tears a hole in the air. Willow tumbles through it, and all of a sudden the apartment isn't really an apartment. It's a space that shouldn't exist, filled with sulphur, and hot, malodorous winds, and unearthly wailing, and all those clichés guaranteed to make you think of hell. "I thought I'd never find my way out of that place," Willow says. "Quor'toth pretty much sucks as far as hell dimensions go."

She is dirty and gaunt, and does not appear to be having a very good day. Around her neck is a thin metal chain, and at the end of the chain swings a polished red stone. It reminds Buffy of the magic-Seed-thingy that started this whole lack of magic mess. A little mini-Seed. "Is that –" She gestures hopefully.

Willow nods. "Mission accomplished." A sonorous howl fills the room. "Uh – almost. Kinda have a bit of a problem to solve first." She waves her hand at the portal, which doesn't appear to be going away. In fact, it's getting distinctly larger. "These guys are _really_ pissed at me for, er, appropriating their baby Seed. But it's not like they needed it! They have dozens in Quor'toth, and – you know what? Exposition later. Right now, I need to shut that portal." She closes her eyes and hums something in another language, then opens one eye back up and focuses it on Buffy. Tossing the scythe her way, she says, "Just in case any of them make it through."

Buffy catches the weapon without any effort, but the words don't sink in. She hasn't heard much past the part about the red stone having something to do with magic. The girl in the other room – or, hello, _this_ room, looks like the dividing walls have disappeared into another dimension – needs that magic. _Now_. She lunges at Willow and drags her over to a bleary, confused Xander. "Willow," she says frantically, and points at the sleeping _(dying)_ girl. "Do something. Fix her."

"After, Buffy, I have to close the portal first." Willow takes a good look, and her eyes widen. "Never mind. I can do both. But it means you're going to have to fight!" And she shoves Buffy away, over to where the first of the demons has found its way into their world and Spike is its welcoming committee.

So Buffy fights. And while she fights, memories come back to her. At first it's just a trickle – _Dawn, her name is Dawn_ – and then it's a deluge.

Dawn is there, alive and awake and _whole_, and they're holding the demons back, and everything is going to be okay.

Everything is going to be fine. Because it always is, in the end.

.

* * *

.

But the portal refuses to close. And the demons keep coming.

.

* * *

.

Like a cancer spreading, a dark blot grows in her mind.

_Mom's nickname for Dawn – gone. _

_Dawn's first word – gone._

_Her favorite ride at Disney – gone._

Buffy reels backwards. She turns to Willow and her sister, eyes wide. Xander has stopped fighting against the demons and is now fighting with Willow, hands dancing in wild gesticulation. Before she can call out to them, something rakes its claws across her shoulder, and she is forced back into the fray.

More and more memories are disappearing, bursting in her mind and leaving only after-images, black spots shaky and blurred. She works her way closer to the two people huddled around Dawn's bed. To her left, Spike has done the same, but he gets there first. Between the roars and the thuds and the screams, she catches snippets of words

_what are you doing, witch_

_it's too late_

_I can't save her_

_you're erasing her_

_I'm running out of juice_

_I can't seal the portal_

_I need the power_

_I need her magic_

_don't _

_please_

.

* * *

.

_It'll be easier this way. No more pain. We won't even remember._

.

* * *

.

Buffy has killed the last demon within arm's reach and there is a split-second lull, a moment of silence as she reaches the eye of the storm. Willow's words crash through to her in perfect clarity, but she doesn't have time to make sense of them.

She sees without understanding –

Xander, like a broken marionette, expression lifeless and mouth slack, the only sign he's alive the low _no-no-no-no_ that burbles out from somewhere deep inside.

Willow, eyes flashing between devastated emerald and empty obsidian. "If I don't close that portal, we'll all die. Every single one of us. It will swallow the entire _world_." Her hand rests on Dawn's forehead.

"Let the world burn." This is Xander. "How can we sleep while the Earth's still turning?" A demon to Buffy's left roars, drowning out the sound of his manic giggles. She dispatches the demon, and the next, and the next, unstoppable in her desperation. She finds herself a little a nearer to the tableau unfolding by her sister's bedside.

Though it's black battling green, not gold intertwined with blue, Willow's eyes make her think of Spike when he's trying to control his demon.

Like now.

He gives in, eyes full gold. "I'm magic," he says. "Got the magic in me."

"Another noble sacrifice? There's no need. She's already dy –"

"You don't get to take her away from Buffy," he roars. "I won't let you!"

"_Let_ me?" Willow's eyes make their choice. Green is swallowed by black. In a blink, Willow shrouds herself with the power she wields. Her jet-black hair dances with magical current. Beneath her skin, obscene worms of ebony writhe and twist. Her free hand wraps around the dangling red stone, and she begins an incantation.

Five more demons burst through the tear, widening it. They die in quick succession. Buffy climbs over them. She's nearly to her _(that girl)_ sister. "What's happening?" she gasps. She grabs Willow by the arm. "What's wrong with Dawn? I can't – she's fading again. What's wrong?"

Spike touches Willow's other arm, the one resting on a girl's pale forehead. He stares into her eyes. "Use me," he says.

"Spike?" Buffy asks. He doesn't look at her. Witch and vampire are locked in a battle she doesn't comprehend. Behind her sounds a long ululation, and another. She turns her head towards the noise, and her heart freezes. On the other side of the tear is an army that puts the First's to shame.

_Dawn's favorite kind of pizza – gone._

_The name of her sister's best friend in high school – gone._

_The way she flips her hair – the color of her eyes – the sound of her voice – _

Buffy gasps, and staggers under the weight of nothingness. "Dawnie?"

Xander's laughter turns into a wail.

"_Use. Me_."

.

* * *

.

There is a hole in the world. Demons pour through it. It widens, devouring the apartment that should only be the size of a postage stamp, ignoring all laws of time and space. Sulphurous winds blow hot and dry and crimson.

As the hole grows, the empty spaces inside Buffy's mind shrink, filled in by bubbling laugher and all things sisterly. The hellwind dries her tears of joy before they have the chance to fall. Though she's outnumbered and outmatched, her movements are filled with exhilaration.

And then the rip begins to shrink, winking in on itself. But there is still more space than there should be. Still more demons to dispose of. She has to stop them from reaching Dawn.

"Spike," she calls. "Three of them, on my left."

"Hold on, love," he answers in a strained voice. "Bit occupied at the moment."

So she takes care of it herself. As she does, the portal grows smaller and smaller. _House-sized – truck-sized – people-sized – plate-sized – nickel-sized_. No more demons can fit through. Buffy turns to the others in jubilation.

"You did it, Willow!"

Willow's face is the color of old ash. Her eyes have rolled back in her head. One hand is still wrapped around the pulsating stone, and the other –

The other hovers where Spike's chest should be.

Behind her is a bright flash and a loud pop, and the infernal wind ceases. Willow collapses. Buffy stares a moment more, then rushes forward. Spike is still there – sort of – but his form is more the suggestion of a man than actuality. One strong breeze will blow him away.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

"What have you done?" Buffy whispers.

His voice whirrs like dry insect husks. "What needed to be done." With effort, he says, "Go see to Dawn, pet."

"But –" Buffy can see the light from the table lamp behind Spike shining through him. Right where his heart would be.

"_Go._ See to Dawn," he repeats, harsh now.

Dawn's voice, weak and weary, draws her attention. Buffy looks over. Xander, sobbing, holds her hand. Torn, she takes a step towards her sister. _Dawn_. She turns back to Spike. "You're going to believe me this time, right?" The top of the shape moves, up and down. Dust billows outward. She will not cry. Just like last time, she will not cry. "Thank you," she says. And then –

"_I love you_." The way she says it borders on angry. But she will not cry.

Buffy whirls around and hurries to Dawn's side. From behind her, like an exhalation on the wind, she hears, "Love you too."

.

* * *

.

They saved the world.

They saved Dawn.

So why can't she stop crying?

In discordant two-part harmony, she sobs her grief out with Xander. Each of them holds one of Dawn's hands. One of her still and lifeless hands.

"I remember," Buffy croaks. Every last detail, down to Dawn's final words before her body gave out from the strain of not-dematerializing for months on end. They'd saved her, but too late for all the chemical reactions and cellular processes that make up the business of living to recover and re-establish. "I _remember_."

"It's not enough." Xander stumbles to his feet and out the door.

She watches him go with dull eyes. Moments later, she hears the door to the apartment slam. From the other side of the room, Willow groans. Buffy doesn't want to let go of Dawn's hand.

Willow groans again, but Buffy doesn't move. If she helps Willow, there is nobody to keep Dawn company. But if she stays with Dawn, there is nobody to take care of Willow. Xander is gone – she feels a momentary pang of concern over his safety – and there is nobody else.

She lets go of her sister.

.

* * *

.

She has Willow's head on her lap when she first hears the quiet gasp. Willow has been telling her all about her adventures; how this baby Seed, placed in the heart of the old one, will regenerate it and restore magic. Buffy can't find it in her to care – too little, too late, and Dawn's not just sleeping, despite appearances to the contrary – but she senses her friend's need to tell her tale. So she half-listens and nods in all the right places while her mind cycles the same thought over and over: _sleeping she's just sleeping not sleeping not dead not oh god what have I done and Spike and what will I how will I shhh she's sleeping just sleeping – _

When she hears a second gasp, more of a drawn inhale, she can't help but slide her gaze in the direction the noise came from even though she knows nothing is over there. Nothing but dust.

Nothing but dust, and a man who looks remarkably familiar despite his light brown hair and flushed cheeks. "Spike?" she whispers.

Willow sits bolt upright, eyes wide. She looks the man up and down, taking in his blue jeans and faded blue vintage t-shirt. Spike, last they saw him, had been wearing his usual black. "It can't be. It can't." She turns to Buffy, and her hand creeps to the Seed over her heart. "Did _I_ do that?"

Together, they rise to their feet and approach the now-groaning form on the floor. He opens his eyes_ (bright blue, check)_ and smiles. "Ladies."

"Spike?" His name comes out strangled.

He laughs. "Spike? What kind of question is that, Buffy? You asking if it feels like I've had a spike driven through my head, 'cause yeah, hell of a pain in the noggin. Must've hit my head something fierce on the way down." He sits up and looks around the room. His eyes land on Dawn, and his smile fades. "Shit. No wonder I passed out like a little girl. I needed to forget for a few minutes."

Buffy and Willow look at each other, then back at the man at their feet. "William?" Buffy tries. She has expended far too much emotion in these past few hours to feel anything other than minor incredulity.

"Yeah, pet?"

She flounders. _Now what?_ she mouths at the other woman. Willow shrugs. "Can I... get you anything? Do you need some blood?"

"Don't think I quite need a transfusion just yet. But a glass of water would not go unappreciated. I'm bloody parched."

When he's had his drink, he climbs heavily to his feet, and walks to Dawn's side. He brushes her hair away from her face with infinite tenderness, and Buffy's breath hitches in her chest. "At least it's over now, Bit. No more fighting that nasty cancer."

Buffy and Willow stare at each other once more. Willow sidles up to her and whispers, "What is going on?"

Before she can reply, William says, "Where's Xander?"

"He took off. I think he needed to clear his head." Buffy realizes Xander's been gone for quite some time now, and it's well after dark. "Maybe we should go look for him."

"I'll go," Willow says. "I'm sure he's at the bar. You guys stay with... with Dawn. And..." She waves her hand around. "Talk."

_Sure, leave me to handle this_, Buffy thinks, dully. "So... William." But she can't think of what else to say. "I..." She looks down at her sister's face, and the reality of Dawn's death hits her all over again. She crashes to the ground.

It is a long time before she realizes the man with his arms around her is just that.

A man.

.

* * *

.

Several discreet questions later, along with some less discreet touching, and Buffy has established that, yes indeedy, William is one hundred percent pure _human_.

He is also suffering from one of the most staggering cases of what the gang used to call Sunnydale-itis Buffy has ever seen. William is wholly oblivious to anything supernatural – to see how far it goes, she perches atop one of the remaining corpses that didn't poof back into its home dimension before the portal closed, and awaits his reaction.

William scrunches his face up in disgust. "That bearskin rug has certainly seen better days, hasn't it?" And then he looks anywhere but at the orange leathery body beneath her rump.

Buffy would laugh, except she might never stop, and Xander has already used up their quota of complete mental breakdowns for the day.

So she asks him a few more leading questions, trying to figure out exactly what has happened here. William – and though he looks like Spike, and talks like Spike, and acts like Spike, he is most definitely _not _Spike – answers her questions patiently. What makes him not Spike, she realizes, is his past. It's all there, his memories repackaged to gloss over anything supernatural. Yep, all there – except the years of murder and mayhem that, no matter how he tried to atone for it, defined who Spike was. Those memories have been expunged. Absolutely and completely. William has no idea he's one of the most infamous serial killers in Watcher-ly history.

Another realization follows on the heels of this one. Buffy observes him carefully as they talk, and she decides that, yes, it's true. She can see it in his eyes, and hear it in his voice, and feel it in the way he moves. Everything about William is lighter, right down to his very soul.

And she knows exactly what has happened.

He is no longer carrying the weight of Spike's sins.

.

* * *

.

Any other day, Buffy might have liked some time to think about this. To ponder all the implications and ramifications and whatever-else-ications that go along with Spike coming back to life, in all senses of the word, as William. But her mind is – and she thinks she's got a perfectly valid excuse here – unable to handle anything else today. As it is, she's only a hairbreadth's away from that complete mental breakdown she's been trying to avoid.

.

* * *

.

Which is why the universe tosses her a big old _fuck you, Buffy_ in the form of Willow popping into existence right in front of her.

.

* * *

.

Willow hadn't looked so good the first time she'd materialized in front of Buffy – was it really less than three hours earlier?

She looks a hundred times worse now.

"Buffy! Hurry!" And she takes off through the front door, not even looking back.

Buffy casts a single, agonized glance at her sister's body. William sees it. "I'll stay. And... I'll call the coroner. All right?"

No, it's really not all right, but what else can she do? She sprints after Willow. Buffy catches up to her just outside the apartment building. "Xander," Willow gasps. "I thought he'd be at the bar, but then he wasn't there. So I did a locator spell." Beneath the grief and panic, Buffy can hear a note of satisfied pride in the witch's voice. Willow can't help but be happy she got her magic on. "Here," she says, and veers into a dark alley.

Xander is at the far end of the alley, where it's darkest. He's not at the bar because he brought the bar to him. An empty bottle lies at his feet, and he's made a serious dent in a second, while a third rests between his legs. "Here vampy-vamp-vamp," he croons. "Come get yershelf a tashty treat! Eashy pickings! Here vampy-vamp-vamp..."

"I tried to get him to go home, but no dice. So then I tried to call you, but my cell phone is dead – no chargers in hell dimensions you know – and I couldn't carry him either. When did Xander get so heavy?" Willow is in full-on babble mode. "And then I thought, fine, I'll just teleport him home, no biggie. I guess it didn't work. But it's okay, 'cause you're here now."

Buffy aches from head to toe – she doesn't know when she has ever been this _tired_. But she slings her friend's arm around her shoulders and prepares to hoist him up. "Yer not a vamp!" He shoves her away so hard, she stumbles into the nearby dumpster and bangs her head on the corner. For how drunk he is, he's got a lot of power still.

"Come on, Xander. Please. I can't do this right now. I just can't."

"You can't? _You_ can't?" And there's that maniacal laughter again. "Go erway, shlayer. _Sister-_shlayer," he grunts bitterly, countenance dark with accusation. "Lemme be."

She'll feel bad for Xander later. For now, she clouts him on the back of the head and knocks him unconscious.

When they get back to the apartment, the van from the coroner's office is just pulling up. "There's a couple demons still up there," Buffy says under her breath, and Willow runs ahead, leaving her to shoulder Xander's dead weight alone.

She dumps her friend on the couch, and then there are questions, and paperwork, and though she's lived through this before, it's not any easier. Buffy puts a hand on the man's arm when he moves to zip up the bag. "Hold on."

Dawn is pale, but peaceful looking. Some of her hair has fallen in her face and Buffy brushes it away. "I love you, sis. _Dawn_," she says, because she can. She remembers. "I love you, _Dawn_."

And even though it means remembering _why_ her sister is lying in a body bag _(allmyfault)_, she wouldn't give that up for anything.

.

* * *

.

William might not be Spike, but he's still driven to comfort her. Still her rock. He's sitting on the floor, back against the wall, legs splayed out in front of him, and Buffy's got her head against his chest. Though the whole beating heart and warm skin thing is disconcerting, it's also soothing, and Buffy is lulled into a half-sleep. Willow has curled up in the small space at the end of the couch by Xander's feet, her head on the armrest. When Xander groans and sits up, she doesn't even stir.

"Ohhhh. My head," he says.

Buffy winces. "Want me to get you some aspirin?"

Xander shakes his head, but stops almost immediately. "I'll do it," he says, and climbs to his feet. She hears his heavy footfalls as he staggers down the hallway to the bathroom. But he stops partway there and lets out a gasp of such pain, Buffy's heart breaks all over again. "Oh, god, _Dawn_!" William's arms tighten around her. Together, they listen to Xander's broken cries, silently joining in. More than once she half-rises, wanting to comfort her friend, but after his bitter accusation in the alley she's fairly certain he won't find solace in her presence. Not tonight.

After awhile, Xander lumbers to his feet again, just out of eyesight. Buffy listens to him crashing around the bedroom and bathroom, and then everything is quiet. "Think he's gone back to sleep," William says, and she hopes he's right. She wishes she could sleep too, but she's reached the point where she is so exhausted, sleep won't come.

William begins to snore. Buffy stays with him a little longer, and then she needs to _move_. Maybe she'll haul the demons Willow covered up with an old, black sheet down to the dumpster. She tiptoes into the bedroom, and stops short when she sees Xander is awake.

Except something strikes her as not quite right, and it's not just that his eyepatch is askew, a withered eye socket staring at her in accusation.

.

* * *

.

Same scene, same day, different place. Willow slumped in a chair. Buffy answering questions and filling out paperwork. William by her side.

Xander, under a sheet.

If only she'd walked in on him a few minutes sooner, maybe they could have pumped his stomach in time. Or if she'd gone to him when he'd been crying and alone.

Just add it to the list of things she should have done and didn't. Or shouldn't have done and did.

.

* * *

.

It's early afternoon by the time it's all over. "We should go now," William says gently, and tries to steer them both towards the door.

Buffy makes to protest – does Spike really think he can just walk out that front door in the middle of the day? – and then she realizes that, yes, he can. Now that's he's William.

But Willow collapses into a hard plastic chair, mumbles something incoherent, and simply goes to sleep right there amidst the hustle and bustle of the E.R. waiting room. Buffy bends down to scoop her friend up, and then she realizes that, Slayer or not, she also has reached her limit. She's not capable of going another step. "In a minute," she tells William.

She doesn't hear his response.

.

* * *

.

"Buffy."

Someone is shaking her. She smacks at their hands and sinks back down into slumber. They shake her again.

"Buffy. Come on, sweetheart. My car's right outside. I'll take you home."

She comes to very slowly, bit by bit becoming aware of first the buzzing of conversation and muffled groans, then the hand on her shoulder, and last the glare of overhead fluorescent lights. When she sits up, her entire body protests, muscles screaming in agony. William's drawn face swims before her. "Come on, love. I know you're done in, but you'll sleep easier at home." He glances over to the registration desk. "And I don't think the staff's going to let you two sleep here much longer. It's already been five hours, and they're getting mighty suspicious."

Buffy blinks at him. There are a million thoughts and feelings pinwheeling through her head, but all of them are far too painful to consider at this moment. So she blinks again, and says, "Your car?"

"Right outside. Let's go. You can help me with Willow."

"I didn't know you had a car."

"Of course I do. How d'you think I got here earlier?"

She hadn't thought about it at all. She had ridden in the ambulance, and he and Willow had simply shown up later. How they'd gotten to the hospital hadn't ranked high on her list of things to worry about.

"But... I didn't know you had a car," she says again. The existence of a car is particularly hard for her to grasp. "When did you get a car?"

William gives her a funny look. "When I bought it from the nice lady at the Ford dealership, back in December. How did you think I got to San Francisco? Flew?"

Yes. This is exactly how Buffy thinks he got to San Francisco. In a giant dirigible manned by oversized and sentient cockroaches. For a moment, she wonders what would happen if she tries to remind him of this. _Well, William_, she imagines herself saying. _See, you're actually a hundred and fifty year old vampire. With a soul. And for the last few years, you've also been the captain of the S.S. Cockroach. Sounds strange, I know, but welcome to my world. And by the way, yes, that's how you got to San Francisco._

She resists the urge, though, because who knows what might happen. With her luck, he'd believe her, and then it would somehow unravel whatever magic has been cast to bring him back to life. She's really not up for watching William disintegrate before her very eyes. Not today.

Still. A _car_. How the hell does he have a car? Buffy rubs her burning eyes and sighs. William's very existence is improbable at best, and she's going to quibble over the fact that this new, one hundred percent more pulse-having version of Spike comes complete with car accessory?

"Help me with Willow," she says instead.

.

* * *

.

Buffy watches the houses go by in a daze. They've dropped Willow off, and now Spike is taking her home. Except, when they stop outside her apartment, she remembers it's not Spike. It's William.

And she doesn't quite know what to do with him. Along with the insta-car, he also seems to have an insta-home in a small town south of Los Angeles, and an insta-life with a job and everything. He's telling her about how he doesn't have to go back just yet; he can stay a few days longer. Until she's back on her feet. Buffy wonders if she is meant to play any part in this shiny new life of his, or if he'll return home and just... forget about her.

Right now, they're still in his car, outside her apartment, Buffy staring aimlessly into the night. Is she supposed to invite him up? And if she doesn't, where will go? Has this been arranged as well, inserted into his mind the way –

The way Dawn was inserted into hers.

Suddenly, everything gets very blurry.

"Shhh, come on baby, I've got you. Come on, let's get you upstairs." They're moving very, very slowly – _swing your legs out of the car, that's it, now stand up, here, lean on me, let me take care of you just this once, there you go_ – and Buffy is only half-aware of what's happening. The rest of her is wondering if maybe Xander had the right of it. For a moment, she is angry William is not Spike, that he can't give her that final dance he promised so long ago. It would be so easy, she thinks. She could tilt her head back, like so, and he would look at her the way he is now, but with amber eyes, and...

She is so lost in the fantasy, she doesn't realize the warnings sounding in her head are not because of Spike. Lucky for her, it's vampires rather than zompires, because vampires can't help but announce themselves before they attack. She can almost always count on a hiss of "Ssssslayer!" followed by a moment or two of posturing. Zompires aren't so considerate. They just rush right in, all fangy and grr.

The leader of the pack, a big ugly fellow who was probably once a linebacker, delivers the traditional greeting. Even though they're surrounded, Buffy isn't concerned. She's got her stake in her right hand and her favorite fighting buddy on her left. And while she might have fantasized only seconds ago about letting Spike end her life, these creatures do not merit the same consideration. "Let me guess," she says. "Something-or-other is all my fault, and you're here to tell me why? Sorry guys. It's been a long day, and my complaints inbox is completely full."

Buffy is all set to take out the first of them, the rest of her quip dangling in readiness, when William barrels in front of her and shoves her target to the ground. "Buffy! Run!" he shouts. And then he delivers a punch that is solid by human standards, but lacking when it comes to supernatural opponents.

Big and ugly doesn't even flinch.

.


	4. Palimpsest: Book 4

PART FOUR

_ [Her] delusions are multi-layered. She believes she's some type of Hero._

\- Institution psychiatrist _(Normal Again)_

.  
.

"You!" Buffy spun Willow around and slammed her into the wall. "You did this to me! Why?"

"Why?" Willow laughed, and Buffy felt a jolt of electricity go through her, forcing her away from the witch. "You were practically begging me for it. _Oh, Willow, why can't I just be normal?_ Day after day of listening to you _whine_. _Sooo_ boring! So I gave you what you wanted."

"I didn't ask you for _this_. For nightmares, and confusion, and... And to have all my choice taken away from me!"

"Hey, well. I didn't ask to be a witch-less witch. _You_ gave _me_ the gift of 'normal' without a second thought. I only returned the favor."

Willow made a grab for the mini-Seed, but Buffy backhanded her away. After so many months of being a regular girl, the strength coursing through her felt strange. Strange, but exhilarating. "I don't think so! And why do you even still have this? I thought the whole point of it was to regenerate Earth's Seed, not to... to..." She narrowed her eyes in comprehension. "You've been keeping it with you for the power boost. That's why you're all with the Dark Willow again."

"Guess what they say about getting wiser with age is true. Now give it here, Buffy, before you get hurt. I don't wanna hurt you..." Lightning arced from her fingertips. "But I'm not gonna be too cut up about it, either."

"No!" Buffy backed away. "Look at you. This has got to stop."

The witch sighed. "And this is why I liked you so much better when you were just Buffy. Get a little Slayer in you, and you turn all righteous. _ Ugh_."

Buffy dodged a flash of light. If Willow needed the power of the Seed in her hand to get her full mojo on, then she would just have to make sure the witch didn't get her hands on it.

She turned and ran.

.

* * *

.

Buffy turned and ran, chasing down the last vampire, the one intent on dragging William away for a late-night snack. One well-aimed stake, and goodbye vampire. She caught William before he could fall to the ground. Heart hammering, she pressed her fingers to his neck, praying to find a pulse. A part of her was weirded out to be checking Spike for a pulse, but the bigger part of her was simply relieved to find one.

"Thank god," she muttered, though taking in the state he was in, merely having a pulse wasn't enough to make her own heart stop its panicked rabbiting in her chest. "And... it's back to the hospital for us."

As Buffy hoisted William over her shoulder, she couldn't help but wonder how she'd ended up on the wrong side of the hell portal when it had closed.

.

* * *

.

"Coffee?"

"Thanks, Willow." Buffy turned back to the comatose man in the bed, eyes scanning him for _any_ change and finding none. "I don't get it. Why Shanshu Spike just to kill him off hours later? Surely whoever's in charge of these things knew what was going to happen."

Willow settled into the other chair. The hue of the skin around her eyes would have made a raccoon proud. "Shawn-who-now?"

Right. She hadn't exactly had the time to explain to Willow what she'd figured out about William in between... in between everything that had happened. "It's this prophecy thing. About vampires – vampires with souls to be specific. If they rack up enough good deeds, help out in an apocalypse or two, they get to be real boys again. More importantly, they get to be real boys who've received absolution for their past."

Spike had told her about it during that period when they'd been sort-of friends, before the whole robot disaster. She'd finally worked up the courage to ask him why he'd stayed in Los Angeles, and more importantly, why he'd never called her. Eyes trained on his boots, he'd explained about the Shanshu prophecy, and how things had developed from there. "Huh," she'd said. "I never pegged you for wanting to be human again. You always seemed to like being a vampire so much."

"I do at that. It's the guilt I'm not so fond of."

"It's still...?"

"It's always there, Buffy. Never goes away. Never going to forget. And I know as I deserve hell and worse for everything I've done, but... It's a nice idea. Bit like holding out the idea of heaven for the rest of you, I reckon." Of course, then he'd gone on to tell her how it was all a lie he didn't believe in. After all, he and Angel had each played pivotal roles in how many apocalypses now, and neither of them had developed a dependency on oxygen afterwards.

But, Buffy figured, maybe it didn't take effect until after they dusted. Or... or maybe Spike's sacrifice this time, right on the cusp of her finally choosing him, had been the ticket. The final gold star he'd needed to earn. Either way, he had his clean slate now.

"It kinda sucks though. Not just this." Buffy gestured to William's still form. "But the whole deal. I mean, he's a hero. A champion! And he doesn't get to remember a single minute of it. How he struggled. How he _changed_. What he had to go through to earn this. It's just – _pfft_ – gone. Like it doesn't even matter!"

"I think that's the point. To remember the good, he'd have to remember the bad. And if he did, he could never be free of it."

Though Buffy had to agree Willow's explanation made sense, it was still too sad for words. Spike had been baptized in blood and tempered in fire. He'd gone through hell – literally – and come out the other side of it a changed man. But he would never get to fully appreciate just what he had accomplished, in the end.

Then again, if he didn't wake up from his coma, he'd never get to appreciate _anything_.

.

* * *

.

William didn't wake up. Not on day one, or day two, or day three-four-five-six-seven. Buffy divided her time between the terrible, mind-numbing aftermath of death _(sorting-packing-calling-arranging-consoling-burying-lying-in-a-heap-and-crying)_ and sentry duty at the hospital.

At least she didn't have to go it alone. The circle of people she could count on was down to one, but it was a one who had been by her side longer than anybody else alive. Anybody else _still_ alive. When packing up Dawn's clothes got to be too much, Willow was there to sort and fold while Buffy sobbed over the summer camp t-shirt Dawn had worn years longer than she should have, until it was threadbare and see-through. When Willow broke down in the middle of trying to find Xander's parents to let them know what had happened, Buffy took the phone from her slack hand and spoke with his Uncle Rory. And when neither of them could go on, they didn't go on together.

Andrew showed up at some point, almost helpful, and then Faith came, and somehow that made everything a tiny bit better. Faith, it turned out, was a part of the circle now. Like long ago with her mom, Buffy was grateful to have somebody else step in and take over at least part of the arrangements. Faith got them through the worst of it before she had to return to England for her own crisis, taking her leave of Buffy with a fierce hug. And even though Buffy was pretty sure nothing would ever be okay again, that hug gave her the courage to go on.

With the funerals over, Buffy turned her attention to William. If she focused on him, it meant she didn't have to think about anything else. Day after day, she sat at his bedside, monitoring his monitors and talking to him about everything and nothing. When she wasn't monologue-ing to William, she kept up a steady stream of prattle with Willow, sharing every thought that wasn't a thought about... other people. Babbling Buffy meant Not Thinking Bad Thoughts Buffy.

One day, she said: "This is good, I mean, he just gets to live as a normal guy. _That's_ a reward, to not be dealing with vamps and apocalypses and all that. Kind of a relief, really."

And on another: "If you look at it in the right way, it's more like he's getting his life back. That's the way to look at it, instead of seeing it as they, whoever _they_ are, stole something from him. I mean, Drusilla stole his life, really. She took that away from him. And now he has it back. You just have to ignore how it's over a century later. Not like they had record stores back then. Did they?"

Then: "I guess it had to be this way. William getting Sunnydale-itis. He can't be clued in to the demon world, otherwise he might remember he _was_ one, and there goes his happy shiny guilt-free reward. But how do you think we can make it work, with me the Slayer and him so oblivious? Maybe it's not supposed to work. Sure, we can stay friends, casual friends, but maybe it was going to be more. Except now that's impossible, because he's normal and I'm not. What kind of relationship is that? 'Hi honey, where have you been all night and why are your clothes always covered in blood?' Talk about awkward."

Followed by: "Maybe it doesn't matter, because he's not Spike, not anymore. And I know I loved Spike, but do I love William? I don't know. He could be really different now, not just in the duh, not a vampire way, but his whole personality. And maybe the vampire part matters. For me. You know me and normal guys have never been a thing. I tend to have a type, and let's face it, Spike fit that profile way more than William does."

And more than once: "It's too bad there's no Shanshu for Slayers. You've done your time, here's your gold watch, thanks for your service. And then – poof. Not just a long life, but a long, _normal_ life. Seems only fair, you know."

"The prodigal son gets the fatted calf?" Willow said, with more than a trace of impatience in her voice. It took Buffy a long, long time to dredge up the reference, and by the time she'd figured it out and marveled over the Jewish girl quoting the Bible, Willow had fled, leaving William her only audience.

.

* * *

.

On day eight of William's coma, Buffy was hit with a new concern. When Willow poked her head into his hospital room later that afternoon, Buffy led her back out into to the hallway so she could share her worries out of earshot, just in case he could hear... and understand.

"However they brought William back, it had to be magic, right? So... what if... what if... what if what happened to Dawn..." She had to stop and swallow several times before she could go on. "What if that's what's wrong with William? Since, you know, magic is still all fritzy until the old Seed heals?"

The parallels between William's situation and Dawn's were definitely too similar to ignore. At first, they'd thought Dawn was just sick, nothing more – until their memories had begun to fade. That was when they'd figured out the problem was due to magic, or lack thereof. But she and Xander had also realized Dawn wasn't _just_ magic, at least not anymore, otherwise she would have disappeared the moment the Seed of Wonder broke. She'd evolved from a mystical construct into a hybrid, both living human and something else. A sort of symbiotic half-breed, like vampires. So, while the magic had been escaping for months, the human part of her had held her together. And when the magic had reached critically low levels, the human part had begun to die as well. One half couldn't live without the other.

William, with his new life and altered memories, had to be part-magic. He had to be. And now he was sick, possibly dying. The thought that he might be undergoing the same fate...

Willow's hand crept to the mini-Seed as she listened to Buffy's concerns. With a frown, she held one finger up in a _wait here_ gesture and ducked into William's room. Buffy paced the hallway, resisting the urge to follow. The redhead hurried out several minutes later. "I'm not getting the same vibe off of him. His is a straight-up coma. And," she added quickly, "though there _is_ a magical component to his energy, it's not the same. It's... I dunno. Bigger than Earth magic? Like... trans-dimensional, or something. But I'm positive you don't have to worry about that part of him. Whatever's wrong is because he's human, and humans... well, they get hurt."

Buffy relaxed. Just a little. Sort of.

"So, hey. What about the Seed?" Desperate to think about anything other than William's condition, if only for a moment, she nodded at Willow's fabu new fashion accessory. "Don't you have to work some hocus-pocus to get it up and running again?"

"I do. It's not going to be easy, though. I have to make the trip back down into the Sunnydale crater, and I was kinda thinking I should wait until things settled down around here."

"You're going to need help, I'm guessing."

"It would be nice. Having someone to watch my back. Maybe a couple of someones."

Buffy thought about William lying motionless in the other room. She wanted to be here when he woke up, but... A Slayer's duty was never done. "I think this is as settled as it's ever going to get."

"Yeah," Willow said. "Okay."

.

* * *

.

Buffy made it down the hallway and almost to the apartment building's stairs before she ran into what felt like a brick wall. An invisible brick wall. Willow rounded the corner a moment later, the hall lights guttering out with a shower of sparks.

"Trying to outrun a witch? Not your best plan."

_Crap_. Even without the mini-Seed, Willow could still work her spells. _Think Buffy, think_. "You might not be so fond of the Slayer in me, but gotta tell you, Wills..." Her eyes scanned the dim hallway, searching for options. Brute strength versus magic rarely worked well. "Not loving the whole Darth Willow angle. You could even say I hate it. Not too thrilled with the déjà-vu-y-ness of the moment, either." Willow only advanced on her, one hand out, and Buffy felt the necklace begin to slip out of her grasp, tugged away by an invisible force. She looked down at the stone, and shuddered. It gave her the heebie-jeebies. The thing was pulsing, and... bigger than it used to be? Buffy was positive it was almost double the size of the stone Willow had brought out of Quor'toth.

"Plus, what's with the hoarding? I thought it was so important to take this thing to Sunnydale and restore Earth's balance. What happened to that plan?"

Willow shrugged. "I found a better one." She twitched her hand. Buffy squeezed her fingers more tightly, though she wanted nothing more than to fling the throbbing, corrupted stone away. "And the Earth will still heal. Just a little more slowly this way. Meanwhile, I have the power I need. To be useful. Get things done."

"This doesn't feel useful. It feels _evil_." She shuddered again as the rock strained towards the witch. "This Seed did come from a hell dimension, after all. How do we know –"

"The Seed is pure."

"Okay, _was_, maybe, but..." Willow took another step forward. Buffy eyed the space to her left, calculating distances. "I think..."

Willow moved left and Buffy darted right, down the hallway and back to the apartment. _I think it's been feeding on you_, she finished in her head. It was _definitely_ bigger, and Willow looked... desiccated.

Either way, right now Buffy had something more important to worry about.

She needed to figure out where Willow had stashed her scythe.

Buffy knocked into the doorjamb and went tumbling into the living room, then headed for the bedroom. The scythe would be out of sight, and... She closed her eyes and concentrated. Her head snapped to the right, and like a bloodhound, she followed the hum of power emanating from the back of Willow's closet. She closed her hand around the handle just as Willow skidded into the room. Buffy glanced from the blade in one hand to the stone in the other. "Time to end this," she said, and dropped the necklace and raised her weapon.

"_NO!_" Willow yelled. "No, you can't!"

"Oh, I can. Believe me. Been there, done that already. Not going to have a problem doing it again."

Willow backed off several steps, her hands up in a gesture of submission. "If you do, Buffy... if you do, the world will never heal."

"Not feeling the urgency." It was too late to help Dawn. Let the world burn. And it wasn't like she had seen any other tangible need for magic. Buffy was nowhere near convinced this chunk of polished rock was necessary, or even beneficial. "Neither were you, a few minutes ago. So..." She reared back.

Before she could reverse into a downward swing, Willow shouted something, and the stone rocketed out from under her foot. Buffy pounced, missed, and pounced again, this time stopping the necklace's forward motion by trapping the chain beneath her foot. Willow grunted out another incantation, arms extended, the dark veins that criss-crossed her face bulging outward.

The necklace wobbled frantically. Willow loosed another spell, knocking Buffy backwards. Once more, the red stone rocketed forward, and Buffy sped after it, grasping it just before Willow could close her hand around it. "Give it back, bitch!" Willow snarled.

"No can do." Buffy darted backwards, then turned and ran from the apartment and down the hallway. She stopped in front of the stairwell and dropped the necklace again, this time securing it with both feet. The witch arrived a split second after, a hex rolling off her tongue, but it lacked the force of her previous spells. When she attempted another incantation, Buffy could see it was straining all of her resources. Though the necklace twisted under her feet, Slayer strength won out this time, and Willow cursed viciously.

"Who do you think will pay the price for your fuck-up this time, Buffy? You know, you haven't managed to off your vampire lover for good, yet. Maybe it'll be William who dies this time, what do you think?"

Buffy winced. "I'm sorry, Willow. I don't care if it means you hate me for the rest of your life. I'm not going to lose you to the dark side."

Willow shouted something in a guttural language. The air crackled around her, but other than a whiff of ozone, nothing happened. With a hard look at Willow, Buffy made sure the chain was secure and raised the scythe once more.

"No, _please!_" Willow fell to the ground, and as she did, the darkness bled away, leaving behind a pale and trembling version of the girl Buffy knew. She held her hands out in supplication. "I was wrong, I know. I know. Just... don't break it. Please. _Please_. We can take it to Sunnydale _right now_. Okay?"

Buffy hesitated. Willow certainly seemed sincere. But on the other hand, who was to say she wouldn't change her mind the moment her power replenished? And then there was the question of the Seed itself – was using a possibly corrupted Seed to restore magic the best of plans? She poked the rock with her toe, and frowned. Though it still reeked of power, it was different now. The stone no longer glowed an angry red, nor was it giving off evil vibes. "Okay," she said, giving it another nudge. "You have thirty seconds to convince me."

Willow narrowed her eyes, and the air grew heavy. "Convince you? Here we go again, with you thinking you're the one who deserves to be in charge. Just because you're the _Slayer_. But it doesn't make you any better than me. And after all the times you've screwed up –"

"I've screwed up, Willow. I'm more than willing to admit it. I've – _god_, I've screwed up. But that doesn't change what's going on with you, right here, right now. This isn't right, and you know it. The question is, are _you_ willing to admit it?"

"I'm in control," Willow said, even as her eyes darkened.

Buffy raised her eyebrows and hefted the blade higher. When the other woman showed no sign of backing down, she said, "Your thirty seconds are up."

"No, no, wait! Here I am! With the talking! All right? Okay?" Contrary to her words, Willow bit her lip and paused there, though she kept her hands up in surrender. Finally, she drew a shuddering breath. "I was going to take the Seed back to Sunnydale right away. Really, I was. But, see, I knew it would take a long time for magic to restore itself naturally while the original Seed repaired. It might take years before it reaches maximum power. And in the meantime, the longer I kept the mini-version with me, the more I didn't want to give it up. Having it made me powerful again." Willow grimaced. "_I_ never wanted to be a normal girl."

"But you wouldn't be. Not forever. Meanwhile, everybody else is suffering, or so you told me."

"I might have... forgotten that." Willow closed her eyes. She took several deep breaths, gearing up for some confession. Buffy waited. "And... and it was the only way to be with Aluwyn. Without tapping directly into the power of the mini-Seed, I couldn't reach her. I was... I _am_ afraid to give that up. I don't know how long it will be until the magic is strong enough I can do it on my own."

"Aluwyn... Your girlfriend?"

Willow nodded. "She's not from this dimension. It takes more than a plane ride to reach her."

"Oh." _Oh_. Suddenly things made a lot more sense. And Willow's actions... they were still wrong. But understandable. Almost. "You know the right thing is gonna be the hard thing."

"Isn't it always?"

Buffy sighed. "Are you sure this Seed is safe? 'Cause I'm not feeling too trusting right now."

"Yeah. It's safe. Once it's in place, it'll do its job. Once it's away from me." Willow radiated guilt. "It's not meant to be used that way. I kinda, sorta... brought out the worst in it."

And it had brought out the worst in Willow. Not that Buffy was going to be all with the finger-pointing. Not when it was her fault Willow had had to go to such lengths in the first place.

She sighed again. "Get your climbing gear. We're going on a field trip."

.

* * *

.

"So how are we going to do this?" Buffy said. She and Willow had adjourned the hospital cafeteria to plan their strategy, out of William's earshot. "Get to the bottom of the crater and back out again?"

Willow thought maybe witches would be helpful, and Buffy thought maybe Slayers would be better equipped for the grueling task, but neither of them knew which Slayers and which witches could be counted on for such a dangerous mission. Neither group had been fond of Buffy – or, by extension, Willow – these last few months. Of the usual people she could count on in a crisis, one lay comatose in the hospital, human now, and the others – the others...

She shoved the thought away.

"Faith?" Willow suggested.

Buffy shook her head. Faith was busy with her own crisis. Worse, a call to the other Slayer meant risking Angel on the line instead. She stared at the map and did her best not to think of the last time they'd had to return to Sunnydale.

_Giles Angel Giles Angel GilesAngelGiles – _

"Riley," Willow said.

"Huh?" Buffy's head snapped up.

"Maybe Riley could get us in. With a helicopter, or something."

Buffy bit her lip. Involving the military was pretty much at the bottom of her options list – only Simone ranked lower – and they weren't too fond of her, either. But it _would_ make life easier. "Let's sleep on it. If it still seems like a good plan tomorrow, I'll give him a call and see what he can do."

Back in William's room, she settled into the bedside chair and resumed her vigil. Much as she hated the idea of leaving his side, even for a day or two, she found she was grateful for a new problem. One she could actually _do_ something about. Sitting around had never been her style, and it was doubly hard now, when sitting meant time to think.

"So, William," she said, and resumed her monologue.

She was in the middle of describing some childhood event involving Dawn and a permanent marker when his toes – the ones not suspended in a cast above the bed – twitched. Buffy paused mid-sentence, her eyes darting between his foot and the monitors by his head. When nothing more happened after a minute, she scooted her chair closer and carefully lifted his hand. "William? Can you hear me?"

Barely, almost imperceptibly, one finger moved.

.

* * *

.

They put off planning the trip to Sunnydale, just for a few days, while Buffy hovered at William's side and basked in his every croaked word and feeble smile. As the hours passed, one thing came more and more clear to her.

She loved him. No, he wasn't Spike. But he was still _him_. Snarky and strong, perceptive and tender, and a bit of an asshole.

Buffy _loved_ him.

And she was going to have to let him go.

"I can't do this to William," Buffy told Willow later the next day. "I – if I try to be with him, I'll just get him killed. Maybe for good, next time." She thought of how he'd yelled – screamed, really – when the nurses had moved his leg earlier, and her resolve was strengthened. She couldn't bear one more person hurt because of her, or worse. "I'm the Slayer, Willow. I don't get to have a normal boyfriend. I can't protect William and keep him safe from what's out there. Even if I wanted to give Slaying up, and maybe I could now there are hundreds of others to take my place, it wouldn't matter. It would still find _me_. As long as I'm the Slayer, I have a big target painted on my forehead, and that includes anybody who's close to me."

With Willow in tow, she tiptoed into William's room. "I don't... I can't say goodbye." They watched as he slept, and Buffy dashed at the tears running down her cheeks. "He'll be okay, right? Maybe he'll even forget me."

"Maybe it doesn't have to be this way."

Buffy shook her head. "Yes. It does."

"No." Willow's voice was strangely harsh, and Buffy turned to her, a question on her lips. It died out when she saw her friend's hand wrapped around the stone at her neck, and her contorted expression framed by ebony hair. The air in the room crackled, making all of the tiny hairs on Buffy's body stand on end. Willow grabbed her wrist in one hand, and William's in the other. "It doesn't."

.

* * *

.

The bottom of the Sunnydale crater was much as Buffy remembered it, minus all the dead demons. And dead people. Riley's voice echoed into her ear through the headset, and she shook her head. This was something she and Willow had to do alone.

Besides, she still wasn't completely convinced of Willow's change of heart. If it came down to Witch versus Slayer again, she wanted him out of the way. Humans, highly militarized or not, would only be a liability. She slid out the door and ducked low, running bent in half until she was clear of the blades, and Willow did the same. Carefully, they picked their way across the ruined landscape and towards the opening of the cavern.

"What do you think we'll find in there?" Willow asked.

Buffy gripped her scythe more tightly. "If it's the Master, it's _your_ turn to kill him."

They only found a small nest of easy-to-kill demons, however, and soon they were standing in the shadowy cavern where _(GilesAngelGiles)_ Buffy had broken the original Seed and changed the world. With heavy feet, she approached the base of the shattered red stone. In its broken shards, she could feel the weight of her sister's death on her soul. Her sister's, her Watcher's, and her best friend's.

"What did I _do_, Willow?"

Willow, for once, was nothing but sympathetic. "What had to be done, Buffy. Maybe... maybe it was the only choice."

Buffy stood glued to the spot, Dawn's face staring back at her from every reflective red surface. "I don't want to be the one to make these choices anymore. I don't want to be the one responsible."

"Buffy..." Willow smiled sadly. "I tried that. It didn't take. You _are_ the Slayer."

Yes, she was. And now that she knew it...

"What am I going to tell William? How can I – he won't understand." Buffy finally gave voice to the one thing she'd been ignoring ever since her memoires had been restored. "I have to leave him. How do I break his heart?"

_And mine?_

"I don't know." Willow touched her on the arm, briefly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that to you... I'm sorry."

"Did you do it with good intentions?"

Willow looked away.

Buffy felt impossibly old and tired. All those years together. How had it come to this?

She took a seat on a chunk of rubble and passed Willow the mini-Seed. "At least we can put this right."

While Willow incanted and invoked, Buffy let her mind drift over the last few months. They hadn't been _happy_ months, exactly, not with the nightmares and the grieving over her sister and friend. But they'd been good. She could have lived that life, with William. It would have been a good life. As the minutes and the hours passed, she remained as still as a statue on her perch in the shadows, reliving those months and mourning the loss of future ones.

"_We've got time, sweetheart_." William's voice echoed inside her head. "_We've got all the time in the world_."

_No._ She began to sniffle._ We don't._

Long after her eyes had dried and she had stilled once more, there was a hum and a flash, and a sound like glass breaking, but in reverse. When Buffy could see again, the cavern was bathed in a gentle red glow. In the center stood the original Seed, covered in cracks, but otherwise restored.

"Is that it?"

Willow hesitated. "It's done. Time will do the rest."

She climbed to her feet. "All right then." Willow didn't move. "Wills?"

"It needs a protector."

"And..." Buffy sensed this was more than idle conversation. "What are you saying?"

"I mean... I have to stay with the Seed. And protect it."

Buffy stared at her friend. "No. No, no, no!" She shook her head. "Baaaad idea."

Willow smiled, gently. "It won't hurt me. And I won't hurt it. This is... pure, Buffy. No vein-y magical black badness down this path."

"Okay, but you still can't stay here –"

"I have to. The Seed needs a protector. A guardian. In order to restore it, I had to pledge to protect it. Besides..." She gave Buffy a tiny, mischievous grin. "Don't you think I'll make a better guardian than the Master?"

Buffy paced, from one end of the cavern to the other, trying to accept what Willow was saying. She stopped in front of her friend. "I don't understand. You'll, what, live here in this hole in the ground? How will you eat? How will you – how will I – what will you _do_?"

"What I have to." She turned to face the Seed, gazing into its depths. "We won't stay here; this location is too vulnerable. I'll have to go deeper. And I don't think I'll have to worry about eating, or much of anything else. I have a feeling I won't be _me_ anymore. Not regular old human me, at any rate."

"Did you know? Before we came down here?"

The redhead shook her head. "I knew there'd be some kind of price, but I had no idea what it would be. It's okay, though. I promise. I... _want_ to do this."

Buffy could see it in her face. Willow was at peace with her fate. "I'm going to lose you too? After everything that's happened – I'm going to lose you too?"

When Willow spoke, her voice was very gentle. "If we're being honest, Buffy... that happened a long time ago."

_Dad-Angel-Mom-Riley-Giles-Dawn-Spike-Xander-William-Willow-_

Alone. For the first time, Buffy would be well and truly alone.

_Death is my gift._

Though Buffy had fought it, for over ten years, in the end she would succumb to her destiny. One girl. _Alone_. Anybody she hadn't managed to get killed, she'd driven off.

_Alone._

She tightened her grip on the handle of the scythe still in her hand, and felt the wood begin to give. With a glance down at it, she loosened her fingers. This weapon – it was hers. When she held it, power coursed through her, from it to her and back again, because she was _the_ Slayer. She was the one who had found it. She had wielded it to drive back the First, and had used it to destroy the Seed and stop Twilight.

Except Willow had tapped into its power as well – to call the other Slayers. To find and restore magic to their world. Maybe she could use it one more time.

"What about Aluwyn?" Buffy said, while possibilities raced through her mind.

Willow's gaze grew distant. "I'll be one with the magic. Maybe that means I'll be able to visit her at will. Or maybe... maybe it won't matter anymore." She stared at her fingers. "The change is only just beginning. I'm not sure where it will lead." Turning to face Buffy once more, she cocked her head to the side. "I really am sorry. About taking your choice away and making you normal. I shouldn't have done that."

Buffy shrugged. "I would have been happy. If, you know, it had stuck. The Slayer part of me was too strong, though." She looked down at the scythe, and then held it out to Willow. "You can fix that. Take her away. Make it stick, this time."

The expression of dreamy serenity on Willow's face vanished, replaced by shock. "Buffy – no."

"Why? You telling me you can't?"

"I – I _can_. With the power I have now, I can un-call you. And I can restore the spell I did that tied your memories to William's supernatural-free ones. It would be easy, and more-or-less permanent. But Buffy..." Willow shook her head. "You are the Slayer. _The_ Slayer. You said so yourself, it's who you are."

"No. Who I am is Buffy. Being the Slayer is only part of me, and that part has destroyed everything I've ever cared about. Willow, I've lost everyone – even you. All I have left is _this_." She brandished the weapon in her hand. "I don't want it. I want my gold watch instead."

Willow's eyebrows drew together. "Are you sure?"

"The world is full of heroes. It can do without me." Buffy held the scythe out again. "_Please_."

.

* * *

.

A/N: There is a (very) short epilogue to follow.


	5. Palimpsest: Epilogue

A/N:

Welcome to the end. Very short, as I warned. Thoughts are _very_ much appreciated.

Thanks again to my betas, Foxstarreh and MargueriteDaisy.

.

* * *

EPILOGUE

_ I like it. I feel like a Joan._

\- Joan (last name unknown) _(Tablula Rasa)_

.  
.

She found William in the kitchen, fixing dinner. The sun slanted through the window, illuminating the counter where he worked and capturing the blue of his eyes when he looked up.

"Welcome back, pet." With a grin, he wiped his hands on the dishtowel and sauntered over to her, limp barely noticeable under his cocky swagger. "Miss me while you were gone?"

"Mmm," Buffy said when her lips were free and her breathing had calmed. "You know it."

"How was San Francisco?"

"Sad." She perched on the stool, chin resting on one hand, and watched as William got back to work. "I still can't believe Willow's _gone_. And I don't know when I'll see her again. Tibet... it's so far away."

William paused in his chopping to cover her hand with his. "She needed to move on."

"Moving on sucks."

Chuckling, he pinched her protruding lower lip. "Oh, I don't know. Things change. It's the way of the world. And if we're lucky, they change for the better." One eyebrow raised, he asked, "Aren't you glad I did?"

Buffy slanted him a teasing look. "Maybe." William raised his eyebrow higher. "Okay, I do like the whole mature and stable thing you've got going on." She slid off the stool and headed for the hallway, putting a little swing in her hips. Looking back over her shoulder, she added, "Just so long as you don't _completely_ forget your wild ways."

William began to follow her, and then with a sheepish expression, turned back to the cutting board and covered the vegetables with a strip of plastic wrap. "Don't want them drying out," he said to her bemused look. Buffy's sniggers morphed into a shriek as he leapt after her and chased her into their bedroom.

.

* * *

.

Later, she brought up the subject of change again as he helped her carry in the boxes of things Willow hadn't wanted to take with her to Tibet. "I've been thinking more about college. And I really think I should do it."

"Think you should too. If it's what you want."

"Yeah." Buffy set down a box in the living room and headed back outside, waiting for William to catch up to her on the stairs. "Like you said, things change. People move on. I'm feeling I've moved on from the whole minimum-wage job phase of my life."

William took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Whatever you choose, Buffy. You know I'll always back you up."

She buried her head in the crook of his neck. "Don't take this the wrong way, but no making me cry. Not even happy I-love-you tears. I think I've cried enough to last me a lifetime lately."

"No more sweet and sensitive. Got it."

Buffy mock-scowled at him, and they continued down the stairs and to the car, hand in hand.

"What's this," he asked, reaching into the back seat and picking up a long object wrapped in several layers of old, black blankets.

"That," Buffy said, "Is for Faith, apparently. Willow asked if we would get it to her." She undid the wrapping and held up the long axe-thingy. "Cool, huh?"

"Sharp. Pointy." William reached out to touch the red blade, and yanked his hand back, shoving his now-bleeding finger into his mouth. "You don't want to keep it?"

Buffy gave it a tentative swing and almost overbalanced. She let her arm drop. The weapon hung awkwardly in her hand, heavy and unwieldy, glinting in the sunlight.

"Nah," she said. She tossed it back onto the seat, blade resting on the discarded sheets. "I'm pretty sure it's all Faith's."

.

The end.

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End file.
